


The Entire Barking Mob Raid

by Murasaki99



Category: The Rat Patrol
Genre: Arabian Horses, Gen, Make that a week, The Captain has a Day, minor descriptions of illness, on the road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26081398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murasaki99/pseuds/Murasaki99
Summary: An outbreak of contaminated water has everyone falling ill, including Dietrich’s unit, who had resupplied their water from the town a week earlier.   Dietrich decides the only thing to do is move the entire town and his own company to a secluded spot deeper in the desert and hope they all survive.  Mind you, he hadn't planned on having to move the whole town, but tackled the problem with typical efficiency.  And then the Rat Patrol shows up, because God has a sense of humor and just because you are dealing with a plague doesn't mean you can't have another complication added to your plate.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 30





	1. Take them All

“The water. I’m ninety percent certain it is the local water.” The battalion doctor sighed wearily. 

Dietrich belatedly remembered the man’s name was Weigle. He was competent, but unimaginative.

“You’ll have to move your unit, Herr Hauptman, find a place with clean water, and wait until the infection burns itself out,” said Weigle.

“I don’t like that phrase, Doctor,” said Dietrich with a scowl. “If the illness derives from the town water supply everyone in my unit could fall ill.” He thought a moment. “As well as everyone in the town _.” I have friends there_ , he thought. _Doctor MacLlyr being one of them. They must know the danger_.

The doctor waved a dismissive hand. “The locals are probably immune, Hauptman, I’d save my worries for your men.” Backing away from Dietrich, he gestured toward the desert beyond his tent. “Do not bring your company here, either. If I’m incorrect about the water being the sole vector of transmission, that leaves person to person. I will write up the orders for your quarantine. Get yourselves lost and return when you are all well, understand?”

“Yes,” said Dietrich shortly. He saluted and left, grinding his teeth _. When we are well, or dead, damn him_ , he thought. 

After arranging for as large a stockpile of supplies as he could manage, Dietrich left the larger encampment and returned to his own as quickly as possible.

\---

“I am sorry, our doctor was adamant. The water here has been contaminated with some contagion. He said everyone must abandon the town until they can figure out a way to purify the water and stop the illness.” Dietrich paced around the room Shannon MacLlyr used for a study, skimming past the spines of the books on her shelves without seeing the titles. Dusty artifacts, most of them bits of old pottery or stonework, sat high above the books, out of the reach of her cat.

“Do you know where you will go?” asked MacLlyr. One of the traits Dietrich appreciated most in his ethnologist friend was her ability to simply take his statements at face value and not waste time in useless argument or questions.

“No,” he said flatly. “That is a problem for now.” He drew a map from his jacket and spread it open on her table. The German army had fine maps, but MacLlyr had years of experience living and traveling through northern Africa. Her knowledge of water sources had saved his life before.

“My company currently has but sixty men, ten of whom are ill. I have been ordered to find a ‘spot out of the way’ and wait for the sickness to pass… or not.”

MacLlyr gave a snort at that, but said nothing, so Dietrich continued.

“My entire company has been using the water from this town. Potentially, everyone could become sick. We need to find a secluded place with clean water where we can recover.” He met her worried eyes. “Your knowledge helped me once to survive a long trek across the interior desert with Sekhmet, the mare you gave me. Can you help again?” He did not bring up the risk inherent in a supposedly neutral Irish national helping the Germany army. 

MacLlyr looked down at his map, pulled up a chair and leaned closer, frowning at the details showing the interior, or rather, the lack of details. Finally, she rose and pulled down a book, which when opened proved to be a handwritten manuscript in flowing Arabic script. She read in silence for a time, then nodded.

“Yes. I know of a place where you and yours should be safe.” Before Dietrich could say anything, MacLlyr raised a finger. “One condition however, my friend.”

“Only one?” Dietrich smiled at her, feeling a little of the burden on his shoulders ease.

“Yes. Years ago I found an oasis in the plateaus of the interior, it is several day’s journey by horse or camel, faster with trucks to assist. The water is good, but not plentiful enough to supply a large army. However, it will support several hundred people if everyone is careful, and not wasteful.”

“That sounds reasonable, and just what we require. What is the condition?”

“The town goes with us.”

“What?!”

“They must, Hans. If some bacteria or other disease has infiltrated the water supply, we need to abandon it until it purifies itself, which it will do. The water here is from a rock-spring, nature will clean it in time. We can’t leave the people here to sicken and die without aid.”

Dietrich rubbed his temples. “My company is not a medical organization like the Red Cross.”

“The villagers are all from nomadic clans. They know how to travel. And the elders have their own treatments for illness. It is better if we care for one other as a group. Each of us has unique skills and can help in their own way.”

“The entire town?” He paced the room again. Even considering the logistics set a headache simmering. “Most of the young men are away. There will be women and children, and all the animals…” He stared at the dusty town’s adobe buildings. “They’d pack up the entire souk!”

MacLlyr laughed softly. “I dare say they would. The town is not SO very large, my friend, perhaps one hundred souls at the most.” She smiled. “Including all the livestock.”

Dietrich sighed. 

“I suppose we had best get started, then.”

\--- 

Three days later Dietrich and MacLlyr watched the last of the Captain’s trucks rumble out of town, loaded with three families, nomad tents, whatever gear and food the people had packed up, six goats, and a random number of chickens. The town stood empty under the setting sun, the windows already taking on that vacant look of abandonment with no lights in them to give them life. 

“That’s the last of them,” said MacLlyr. “Those who were away will receive messages from traveling merchants. They should be able to rendezvous with us later when everyone is well.”

“As long as they do not stay here and start the cycle of illness over again,” said Dietrich. “I have posted warnings at all the town entrances, but…”

“Warnings from their relatives will work best,” said MacLlyr. “News of this sort travels fast.” She looked toward the west, where the sun was starting to sink behind the distant mountains. “Time for us to be following the caravan.”

“Yes,” said Dietrich. “And none too soon, I am starting to feel feverish.”

“Hans! You should have said something! Ridden in the truck!”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I’d rather ride behind the column with you. I want to be sure we leave no stragglers. The truck is moving so slowly we can catch it and use their radio if necessary.”

“Then let’s not tarry,” said MacLlyr. “I’ll get our horses.” She ran off toward the nearby stable. 

_Considering the circumstances, I suppose everything is proceeding as smoothly as possible_ , Dietrich thought. Trying to ignore the giddy fever-flush, he turned to take one last look at the town, when from behind he heard the all-too-familiar sound of jeep engines. _Ach, du lieber Gott_ , _of course. The crowning glory of an upside-down day_. Taking a deep breath, he turned around to watch the Rat Patrol drive up. 

In the clearing of the market square the jeeps were able to turn in opposite directions and came to a halt in a V formation with his body at the center of the widest point. 

“Good evening, Sergeant Troy,” said Dietrich, keeping his hand well away from his sidearm.

“Evening, Captain,” said Troy with a grin. He had not pulled out a weapon, but he had no need to do so since Sergeant Moffitt stood next to the .50 mounted on the second jeep. “Tell me something, was that one of your trucks loaded down with civilians we just passed coming in?”

“Please tell me you did not shoot at them,” said Dietrich. He hadn’t heard any gunfire, but sounds could travel strangely in the morning and evening. “They are civilians from this town, yes.”

“They are fine,” said Moffitt. “They started waving at us as soon as they saw the jeeps, and I recognized some of the old ladies who sell bread in the souk.” The Englishman looked at the town and frowned. “Why have you emptied out the town? Is this some order from higher up?”

“No, not exactly. There has been an outbreak of illness and everyone has to leave for their own safety.” As succinctly as possible, Dietrich described why they had packed up and moved everyone out. He did not say where they were going, although if he bothered to think about it, he knew Troy and his friends could follow them easily. 

“Bad water?” Troy shook his head. “I can’t believe it, Captain. We’ve been running on the water here for the better part of a week.”

“Uh, Sarge, I didn’t want to tell you while we were so busy, but I’m starting to feel kind’a bad,” said Hitch. He leaned against the steering wheel of their jeep, looking very much off-color.

“Same,” said Tully. 

“Well, that’s just great,” said Troy, glaring at Dietrich as if his mentioning of the illness had brought it on.

“You cannot go back to your side, Sergeant,” said Dietrich, trying not to let his teeth chatter as the fever-heat flipped over into a sudden chill. “Our doctor thinks it may be contagious beyond simply drinking the water.”

“Bad form to bring a disease back and spread it,” said Moffitt dryly. “You could have left that part out, Captain, and let us share the sickness with our side.”

Dietrich shook his head, his expression grim. “Absolutely not. We deal with enough of the Four Horsemen already.”

“Four Horsemen?” Troy squinted at the Captain curiously.

“I believe he means the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse,” said Moffitt. “That would be War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death.”

“Exactly,” said Dietrich. “We have War and Death with us all the time, and that is enough. We do not need their foul sibling also.”

“So, what do you recommend, Captain?” Troy would have preferred to hole up in the town and radio headquarters their situation as soon as possible, but the town was empty and stripped of anything useful. If Dietrich was correct, the water here was unsafe. Seeing the place so completely abandoned gave him a sensation of lurking menace. 

Dietrich looked at the men, and then at MacLlyr, who smiled at him as she walked up with their two horses. The animals were tacked up for a desert trek. 

“Good evening, gentlemen. They may as well join us. We are better off together than apart,” said MacLlyr. 

Taking the reins of his mare, Dietrich wiped his forehead on his sleeve and tried to order his thoughts. The fever was making concentration more difficult and Sergeant Troy and his men wavered in his vision like heat mirages. His mare snorted and he felt like doing the same. The situation was ridiculous.

“Why not? Let us pack them up and take them along! Already I have the entire barking mob on the road, what matters a few more?” 

Pulling himself into the saddle, he turned away with MacLlyr, completely ignoring their guns. Making a ‘follow me’ gesture with one arm, he called over his shoulder.

“Easy terms Sergeant, do not murder or harass my men or blow anything up at camp and we will do what we can for you.”

“What do you want in return?” Troy shouted after him.

Dietrich circled his horse so he could meet the American’s eyes for a brief moment.

“I will think of something.”

“Damn. Why did I know he was gonna say that?” asked Hitch.

“Come on, let’s move out after them,” said Troy. He cast a quick glance down at his driver. “You up to drive for a while, Hitch?”

“Yeah, I’m not seeing double yet, Sarge.”

“From the look of him, I suspect Dietrich was already doing so,” said Moffitt.

"Barking mob, huh?" said Tully as he turned the jeep.

"He must have picked that up from the Australians," said Moffitt. "I'm sure he didn't hear it from us."


	2. Caravanserai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting there is half the fun. Cue travel music with goats and Rat Patrol.  
> So why has no one used this lovely oasis for centuries?

_Night is the best time for desert travel_ , thought Dietrich as Sekhmet jogged along near the slow-moving truck, her unshod hooves making little noise. _It is cool, there is a nice breeze_. He tipped his head back momentarily to look at the sky and immediately regretted it as dizziness washed through his skull along with the night air. _The stars would be lovely, if I could look at them without falling from the saddle._

 _For once I would like to make a desert trek without anyone being sick. Including myself_ , he thought. _Or at least limit these little adventures to once a year instead of every six or seven months_. He frowned. _Has it been eight months since my last trip with Sekhmet?_ _This time there is no ‘miracle drug’ to help us, we are going to have to cope with the current illness the old-fashioned way._

The elderly village ladies in the back of the truck seemed to be enjoying the adventure of rumbling along the dirt and stone track. They were chatting away as they busily sorted through piles of what looked like dried herbs, gesturing over the various types and waving examples at each other. He could not hear the conversation over the combined noise of the truck and the rushing sounds in his ears.

Several goats peered over the tailgate, attended by a little girl whose job it was to keep them from escaping. They stared at him dubiously and he returned the favor.

From behind, he could just hear the jeeps of the Rat Patrol. As the evening wore on and their path climbed into the hills, he became aware sergeants Troy and Moffitt had traded places with privates Hitchcock and Pettigrew. Carefully, he circled Sekhmet to speak to Troy. Now that he was closer, he noted Hitchcock was slumped in his seat, leaning his head on his forearms.

“Sergeant, there is room in the truck for both Hitchcock and Pettigrew to lie down. If you wish, I will tell the driver to halt for a minute so we can get them settled.”

Two roosters in the truck decided now was the time to have a squabble, creating an avian flurry of feathers and squawking, the noise enhanced by the old ladies yelling instructions at the rest of the children hidden somewhere further inside. Dietrich winced and Troy shook his head.

“No thanks, Cap’n, it’s a bit quieter out here. We’re not moving that fast; I don’t think Hitch or Tully are going to fall out. “

“Very well, but be aware the trail is steeper ahead, you do not want to lose anyone by accident.”

“How about yourself, Captain?” asked Moffitt. 

“Me, Sergeant?” asked Dietrich. While the jeep’s headlamps lit up the track nicely, they did nothing to illuminate the Englishman’s face. In the gloom his expression was unreadable. 

“Yes, you look like you could use a kip yourself.”

It took several moments for the English slang to translate itself in his mind. 

“I cannot – if I were to lie down now I fear I would not awaken until days later and I must be alert enough to speak to my lieutenant and sergeant at our new camp to be sure there are no misunderstandings. After that?” He lifted a hand and let it fall. 

“If you push it too far you might not wake up at all,” said Troy, his voice was quiet but carried above the steady sound of the jeep engines. 

Dietrich smiled at that comment. He turned Sekhmet to jog alongside Troy’s machine.

“Something funny, Captain?” Troy squinted up at him.

“Yes. If I were not to wake, none of this would be my concern anymore.” His face was tranquil. 

MacLlyr’s black stallion was hard to see in the darkness, but her pale robes were fairly visible. She had turned back to ride alongside Dietrich and was close enough to assist were he to fall out of the saddle. She shared a worried frown with Troy, but said nothing.

“Uh-uh, Cap’n, don’t even think it. You can’t get away so easily,” said Troy lightly. He looked at MacLlyr, and nodded toward Dietrich. “Keep an eye on him.” 

“If you think you can hold off the fourth Horseman with your guns, you are welcome to try. I believe our best defense lies ahead at our camp,” said Dietrich. Turning his mare away, he cantered ahead of the jeeps and then the truck. 

“At any one time, he’s about ten to twenty degrees off the vertical.” Moffitt held up a hand, tilted half sideways. “He’s… not feeling very well, is he?” he asked of MacLlyr. 

“No, he is not,” said the Irishwoman. “And now is not a good time to be invoking the name of Powers that care not for humanity. Allah protect us all!”

“Amen to that,” said Troy. “Stay near him if you can, if he falls off in the dark, we don’t want to find him the hard way with our jeeps.”

MacLlyr nodded and sent her stallion forward. Troy saw the animal as a dark shadow in his headlights for a moment, then it ran past the truck ahead and vanished from view.

\---

Dietrich had to concede this was not the best trek across the desert he had ever made, but despite fever reducing his vision to a dark tunnel and chills that threatened to shake him out of the saddle, he could not help but feel a sense of pride at the way his preparations had worked to move them quickly. As the first of the trucks had made their destination, they had offloaded, refueled, and turned around to come back and take on the next group who had set out earlier with livestock on foot. Packing everyone and everything into those trucks meant they no longer held up the rest of the caravan. At last, in the dark hours before dawn, an empty open truck appeared for them and after some persuasion, the horses were loaded into the back and penned into the forward part of the truck with some light fencing. That task completed, Dietrich and MacLlyr sat in the back with Lieutenant Ehrhart, drinking from canteens of clean water and discussing the last details of the new camp. 

“Herr Hauptmann, we seem to have picked up some extras?” said Ehrhart, looking through the slats of the truck’s side panels at the following jeeps.

“Yes, we have a truce for now,” said Dietrich. “They have the same illness as the rest of us and we decided it was better not to spread it any further than it has gone already.” He gave Ehrhart a sober stare, eyes glassy with fever. “I am depending on you, Leutnant, to reinforce my instructions to Feldwebel Gunther. You two must ensure the peace is kept.”

“We… we are to look after them?” asked Ehrhart. The younger man was obviously less than pleased at the situation, but did not argue with his commander.

“Yes, as you would care for any of our own. Doctor MacLlyr here can help you translate if necessary and their English Sergeant Moffitt speaks German.”

“Where shall we put them?”

“Close, give them a tent as close to mine as possible,” he said without hesitation. “There is safety in keeping them near,” said Dietrich. “Put them by my tent, wherever that is. Or I should say, put Sergeants Troy and Moffitt there. The other two go in the medical tent.” He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “I will be there as well, to start.”

Ehrhart nodded. 

“Yes sir, we raised that tent first. It is about half-occupied with our soldiers and some of the townspeople, mostly the younger children. I’m glad we have more than one trained medic, but there seems to be little we can do except keep the sick as comfortable as possible, give them clean water, and wait for them to recover.”

“That will have to do for now,” said Dietrich. Moving carefully, he stood up in the truck and looked forward, gripping the worn wood of the side panels to brace himself against the jolting. The truck was ascending a steep rocky pitch that could not be called a road and probably would not qualify as a trail. The horses braced their legs and snorted their disapproval, but managed to stay standing. They were far into the rugged hills, and for a long instant Dietrich thought they were going to drive over an edge as the truck teetered on the brink of an unknown depth. Then it bounced over the lip of a ridge. With much grinding of gears and lurching, it headed down into the hidden wadi MacLlyr had mapped for them. 

As they descended toward the valley floor, Dietrich gazed into the deep bowl that sheltered the small oasis. A pool of water stretched in a crescent along one side of the valley floor, reflecting the bright stars above like a mirror. The pool was edged with date palms, the trees making black-fringed silhouettes against the reflected starlight. 

Dietrich drew in a long breath of cool evening air. From his vantage point he could see only a few small campfires, probably belonging to the villagers, broken up by camouflage netting, forming small orange-red glows in the darkness. But those fires were not what caught his attention. The entire wadi was full of tiny pale lights, winking and moving of their own accord, dancing like fireflies above the water and the tents. At first he thought someone in the village had put up strings of lights as a form of decoration, but then his logical mind told him such lights would have been a rarity here in the desert. They were relatively new and were typically seen only in the larger cities like Berlin or London. The blackouts of the war had halted their use for now. 

“How beautiful,” he said, admiring the effect. It looked as if someone had sprinkled the oasis with softly glowing blue-white stars.

“The oasis?” asked MacLlyr. “It is lovely.”

“Yes, but also the lights,” said Dietrich.

“Lights?” MacLlyr looked at the oasis, then back to the captain. “The campfires?”

“No, those silver lights scattered all over.” Dietrich pointed them out to his companion. “Look at them! They are over the tents, and many more are over the water. The effect is very … ethereal.” He clicked his tongue. “Tch. I need to talk to Ehrhart about turning them off, it isn’t safe to leave so many lit up like that. We do not want to be spotted from the air.”

MacLlyr looked at the water shimmering under the stars as they drove up. The camp was nearly dark and there was not a stray light to be seen beyond the natural ones and the few waning cookfires. Gently she touched Dietrich’s forehead. He was very hot to her touch and she spoke softly.

“Take a little more water,” she gave him his canteen as the truck ground to a halt, and he drank a quick swallow before passing it back to her and clambering down from the truck to speak to Sergeant Gunther. Ehrhart sprang after him at once and MacLlyr followed soon with the horses.

Quickly, Dietrich relayed his orders to Gunther, who looked even less happy than Ehrhart at the new additions to their group, but saluted and promised all would be done as commanded.

As the jeeps drove up, Dietrich spoke to Ehrhart. “Get some stretchers for the two Americans. Oh, and Ehrhart, have the men turn off those lights.”

“Lights, sir?” Erhart looked around the dark campsite in confusion. MacLlyr caught his eye and shook her head, and Erhart nodded. “Yes, Herr Hauptmann, it will be done.”

As his soldiers settled Tully and Hitch onto stretchers and carried them off toward the large medical tent, Dietrich moved to follow, but found it difficult to remain upright. Someone took his arm over their shoulder and provided strong support. 

“You’ve made it this far, Captain, I think you’ve earned a cot and a rest,” said Troy. “I’ve got to hand it to you, the camp looks good. Bet it’ll look even better in the morning.”

“Yes,” said Dietrich nodding wisely as he tried to walk. “They have to turn off the lights, however. I do not want anyone to spot us from the air.”

To Troy Dietrich felt as unsteady as a drunk and looked about as alert. “What lights?”

“Those,” the captain pointed upward, and collapsed. Troy held onto him and shifted his grip to half-carry, half-drag him the last steps into the tent. The medics got him settled with minimal fuss. After assuring himself Dietrich was simply unconscious rather than anything worse, and that Tully and Hitch were in the same condition, he left them to their rest. 

“What lights?” asked Troy of MacLlyr as he returned to the jeeps. The Irish scholar was removing the saddles from their mounts and offering them water. 

“Hmm, well,” said MacLlyr as she tethered her stallion to a palm tree. “I think the fever has given Hans the Sight – shifted his vision to see more than the usual.” She smiled at him. "In my culture, those who wanted to become _[fili](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fili)_ , the visionary poets, would undergo ordeals to attain the _imbas forosnai_ , or gift of Sight."

“I’d just say he’s suffering from hallucinations,” said Moffitt dryly. “Should clear up once his fever breaks.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But you should know this little wadi is known as the “Valley of Souls” in the old legends. Souls, it is said, that wander in the form of small lights in the darkness.” She patted Sekhmet on the neck. “It is one of the main reasons people abandoned it.”

The two sergeants stared at her in disbelief.

“You’re saying this place is _haunted_?” Troy frowned darkly at MacLlyr but it was lost on the Irishwoman, who replied in a cheerful tone.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “It was a caravanserai over a millennia ago. And it is as haunted as can be. Why do you think no one wants to stay here?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The imbas forosnai, a gift of clairvoyance or visionary ability practiced by the gifted poets of ancient Ireland. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imbas_forosnai


	3. Home is where the Souk is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old caravanserai comes alive, so to speak. Traditional folk medicine vs disease. Dietrich discusses military service.

Haunted oasis or not, Troy had the best sleep in a long time in one of Dietrich’s tents. Rising with the sun, he emerged to take stock of the camp in the morning light. It made an odd sight, arranged carefully along the edge of the wadi, where it would be protected from the sun for half the day by the surrounding hillside and half-crumbled walls of the ancient caravanserai. There was a definite German section, if you didn’t count the little Allied space occupied by their jeeps, and then the tents of the Bedouin townspeople began to blend into the arrangement, along with their livestock. Among a scattered row of trucks, he could see a half-dozen bored camels, an equal number of donkeys, goats, and many chickens, along with MacLlyr and Dietrich’s two horses.

The civilians made up a larger part of the population. He noticed the camp had been placed opposite the crescent of water and the latrines had been set up as far away as possible from that water source. 

Not a ghost was in sight, which made Troy grin. _Haunted, sure_ , he thought with a snort. _And I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell_.

The smell of food wafted by and Troy followed his nose, rambling around the edge of the German camp until he found the townsfolk and their makeshift souk. The old ladies sat off to one side, simmering something in several large kettles, sorting through heaps of dried herbs with the help of quite a few of the children. Whatever they were brewing did not smell like food. Troy wrinkled his nose and backed away.

The women had fresh flatbread and a baked dish composed of eggs and spicy tomatoes. It smelled heavenly, and Troy bought two shares and walked back to their tent to wake Moffitt. He knew the scent of food would be better than any alarm clock. A pair of young goats gamboled by as he walked, pursued by a little girl waving a twig. 

_I could almost get used to this_ , he thought.

\---

“When the Shahanshah[1] is mad, we who serve must be careful,” said the old warrior.

Dietrich could not have called him a Bedouin, since he was clad in scaled armor like an ancient Sasanid cataphract[2]. He sat cross-legged on a camp stool by Dietrich’s cot, expounding on the nature of service to a government rife with incompetence, backstabbing, and internal strife.

Dietrich rubbed his eyes, which felt hot in his skull. It was still dark when he had awakened, which made him unsure if it was the same night since his arrival at the oasis. He was surprised to find the armored elder at his bedside. The man had a noble face, a nose like a hawk’s beak, and his white beard spilled over his chest. They had talked quietly until dawn lightened the walls of the tent.

“Look after your loyal people. They are the only ones on whom you can depend when the politics become dangerous.” He gazed soberly at Dietrich. He was not speaking German or Arabic, and yet the meaning of his words were perfectly clear. 

“I swore an oath of loyalty and service,” said the Captain. “I am bound by my word.”

“As was I,” said the old warrior, nodding his agreement. “But I offer you this bit of wisdom attained after much sorrow. You swore an oath, yes. But the holders of that oath likewise swore to uphold the honor of you and your warriors. If they break their faith, the oath is dissolved, and Ormuzd[3] will be the final judge.”

“God save us all, then,” said Dietrich.

“What? You do not think you are that far gone, do ye?” asked MacLlyr, suddenly appearing at his elbow on the other side of the cot from his elderly visitor. She held a cup in one hand and smiled down at him, then knelt by his side.

“No, I was talking to the gentleman here,” the Captain said, lifting a hand with an effort to indicate his visitor. He frowned a little. “I beg your pardon, _mein_ _herr_ , but I do not know your name to make a proper introduction.”

“Asvārān Boes, am I, young warrior. In your tongue, you might say _Commander of Cavalry Boes_.”

Dietrich dutifully relayed this to MacLlyr.

“Peace be upon you all,” she said. “I would not disturb your conversation, but the ladies have brewed a remedy that will help you weather the illness and they insisted we give it to everyone as quickly as possible.”

Reaching forward, she helped Dietrich sit up enough to drink from the cup she held. Two of the townswomen did the same for Tully and Hitch. Dietrich took one swallow and tried his best not to make a sound, but a low grunt of dismay escaped. Tully uttered a yelp of protest and the Captain winced in sympathy.

“Aye, ‘tis foul, there’s no help for it,” said MacLlyr. “Serai put in some honey, but it does not make much improvement.”

Dietrich took another swallow and shuddered. A quick glance at the cup confirmed there was only one mouthful remaining.

“Dare I ask what is in this?” he asked. Gamely, he drank down the last bit before she could answer, shuddered once more, and lay back down. Terrible as the brew tasted, it did not bother his stomach. His sinuses felt as if someone had stuffed them with bitter herbs, however. 

“Fever-herb, licorice, some other herbs and roots to help breathing, poppy pods soaked in--“

“Opium?!” 

“Yes, to help with sleep and pain.” MacLyr lifted the empty cup. “Do not worry, you will only need this once or twice, _Inshallah_.” She rose to her feet. “Rest well.” 

“Once is enough,” he replied. He settled himself on the cot with a sigh. 

MacLlyr waited for her friends to finish with Tully and Hitch, then they left that part of the tent together. They must have returned at intervals to dose the rest of the sick, because Dietrich could hear the exclamations of dismay in both German and Arabic as the remedy was distributed. 

He was half-asleep when he heard Hitch say in a hoarse voice.

“The Captain must be tough, he drank that stuff with hardly a sound, and it was really terrible.”

“Yeah,” Tully agreed. “Like something my granny from the mountains would make for us in the spring.”

“For fevers?” asked Hitch.

“Uh-uh, for belly-worms.”

\---

Moffitt lifted his head over his food.

“I say, what is all that shouting from the medical tent?”

Troy stood in the doorway of their small abode looking across the camp at the uproar coming from the impromptu hospital. The old ladies were chasing after some kids well enough to flee their ministrations, which made a minor fuss, but several adults in the big tent were yelling loud enough to cover any other noise.

Troy grinned and shrugged. 

“I dunno. Guess someone didn’t like their medicine.” 

[1] “King of kings” or emperor.

[2] Heavy armored cavalryman, first seen in the Sasanid empire. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cataphract>

[3] One of the names of Ahura Mazda, or God, in Zoroastrianism. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahura_Mazda>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The old Commander of Cavalry is a veteran of one of the earliest forms of armored warfare, beginning around 600 BCE. The armor may change, but human beings do not.


	4. Cavalcade of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old oasis is very busy... with things that aren't there. Or are they?

_It is difficult to sleep_ , thought Dietrich, _when my camp is the center of a caravanserai. Berlin at Christmas would be more peaceful_. He frowned. _It is not that they are noisy, but there are so many!_

It was dark again, on the second night of his illness, at his estimation, assuming he hadn’t lost a day or two. Time felt _stretchy_ to him, like taffy left in the sun. He had managed to roll over onto his stomach, and with his chin resting on his crossed forearms, he was able to watch the camp without much effort. Someone had raised the sides of the tent in sections to let the evening breeze clear out the warm air built up over the day. Despite the open water at the oasis, there did not seem to be any hungry mosquitoes about, for which he was grateful. 

_Perhaps all the traffic keeps the insects away?_

Outside his tent, a proper cavalcade passed him by. Much of it, at first glance, looked like the typical caravans of the Berbers and Bedouin: pack camels loaded with goods and tents, the better-bred animals carrying the women and small children. Warriors armed with lances and swords, mounted on war-camels and fine horses that could have been relatives to his own mare Sekhmet, escorted the caravans. Accompanied by the tiny lights, they all paced in silence across the oasis toward the center of the lake, where they vanished into the moon-dazzle on the water and were lost from his sight. 

In between the caravans, the travelers had much variety. People driving cars and trucks from decades earlier. Archeologists with their digging tools and notebooks. Italian colonists and soldiers. A large unit of cataphracts, although he could not see old Boes in the ordered ranks of horses draped in scaled mail of steel. Knights on heavy war-horses, wearing surcoats bedecked with crosses.

 _Knights Templar?_ He wondered. _Here? I know we need more armor, but that is **very** out of date. All those horses, how would we keep them fed and watered? Just as much trouble as trucks and tanks. Where would I put them all? _He fell asleep with his mind working at the supply logistics involved.

\---

“We have more than enough food for five days,” said Lieutenant Max Erhardt, looking at his clipboard with a frown of concentration. “Although it does not have much variety.”

“Actually more than that, if you count what our friends from town have brought,” said MacLlyr, likewise looking at notes in her battered journal. She grinned at Max. “We have plenty of eggs.”

“And chickens everywhere!” Master Sergeant Konrad Gunther glared at everyone over the camp table. 

“Chickens?” asked Moffitt. “I’ve seen more goats than chickens.”

“That’s because half the time the stupid chickens are in our tents,” growled Gunther. “The townspeople let them run around wherever they please and don’t seem to care if they roost on the tent-poles INSIDE the tents. I’ve told the men to tie them shut to keep the chickens out, but in the afternoon it becomes too hot and everyone goes inside for the shade, chickens included.” He sighed. 

“Hmm, perhaps we should take a few and make some chicken soup?” asked Moffitt with a smile. “It’s good for the sick and the well alike.”

“That is a good idea, actually,” said MacLlyr. “Let me talk to the elders, there should be a few old birds we can cull without diminishing those that are still laying eggs.”

“Pick some roosters,” said Gunther. “I will alert our cook.” The blond sergeant grinned suddenly. “We will sleep better, also.”

\---

“How are you doing?” asked Troy. He knelt by Hitch, who was mostly awake. Tully was asleep nearby and did not stir at the sound of his voice.

“Pretty good, Sarge, except the joint is jumping with people.” Hitch, flushed and bleary-eyed, waved a hand out to the side of his cot.

“Really?” 

The only people in Troy’s sight were a few of the older townswomen, and a couple of German soldiers pressed into nursing duty. They were all busy with patients toward the far side of the medical tent and not making much noise. 

“Yeah, squads of Italians went through just a little while ago, and right now there’s another caravan.” Hitch pointed at the back of the tent, perhaps three feet from where he lay. “Captain Dietrich tried to tell ‘em not to walk through the tent, but then he kind’a passed out, and I don’t think they got the message. He can speak some of their language. Me, all I know how to say is, ‘you’re cute’ in Arabic and French.”

“Right.” Troy helped Hitch get a drink of water, then stood up. Carefully, he peered through a panel of the canvas outside at the oasis. There was not a caravan in sight. 

“I’ll see what I can do about the caravan,” said Troy. He smiled at Hitch. “Get some sleep.”

“Right, Sarge, thanks.” Hitch pulled up his blanket and closed his eyes. He was snoring in moments. 

Troy checked on Tully, who was still sleeping peacefully. Dietrich was lying on his stomach on the next cot over, his arms outstretched to either side of his head and dangling over the forward edge of the cot like a diver. He looked a little flattened, as if one of his halftracks had tried to run him over and didn’t quite get the job done. He was breathing hard. Troy shook his head _._

 _Last time I went to sleep like that my arms were completely numb from the shoulders down when I woke up and it took fifteen minutes for the feeling to get back into them. You’d think his medics would be looking after him better._ A quick glance into the depths of the large tent showed all the Germans were busy helping the women with a bunch of the children from the town. 

_He doesn’t make a lot of complaints, so they figure he’s fine._ He shook his head. _Hard to compete with sick kids._

With a sigh, he crouched down by the cot, and with some effort, turned the captain over onto his back and placed his arms down by his sides. After a bit of searching, he pulled the rolled up old blanket that had been serving as a pillow out from under the cot and got it under the captain’s head and shoulders. It must have helped, because Dietrich began to breathe easier. 

“That’s better,” said Troy, standing up. 

Dietrich opened his eyes and looked at Troy. For a moment he did not recognize the man, then woeful memory kicked in. Every muscle in his body twitched as he tried to jump up and away, followed immediately by the realization that he was incapable of any such maneuver. All he managed to do was arch his spine, which hurt as if all the vertebrae were cracked. He sagged back onto his cot with a sound between gasp and groan.

“Sergeant Troy,” he managed to say when he could trust his voice. At least the American was not holding a gun on him.

“You sound terrible, Captain,” said Troy. He seemed genuinely sympathetic.

Dietrich ground his knuckles into this eyes. 

“Why are you here, Sergeant?” Lowering his hands, he squinted into the tent. “Wherever here is.”

Troy pointed downward. 

“You’re in your own medical tent at the oasis, along with half your soldiers, Tully and Hitch, and about a quarter of the town,” said Troy. He grinned at Dietrich. 

“And I’m here because you insisted we come along with you, since everyone was getting sick and we all had to quarantine.”

The captain pushed himself up with shaky arms to stare at Troy, struggling to assemble a full sequence of memory from the fragments. 

“I did _that_?”

“Yep. You said, ‘might as well bring the whole barking mob’.”

Dietrich let himself slide back down onto the cot.

“I **did** that.” He rubbed his face with his hands, then let them settle onto his chest. 

“Is anyone dead?”

“Nope,” said Troy cheerfully. “Everyone who’s not sick has been too busy to worry about a little thing like getting into trouble. Your Sergeant has been keeping your men at work setting things up, cooking, and helping the medics. Your Lieutenant – Erhardt, I think that’s his name, he’s been working with MacLlyr and the town elders to get supplies distributed.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Dietrich exhaled slowly, tried again to sit up, and sank back with a grimace. “I’m going to be here for at least another day and there is no guarantee that I will be conscious or coherent during that time. Work with Erhardt, Gunther, and MacLlyr and do what you think is best.” _And Allah protect the lot of us_ , he thought.

“I’ll do that.” Troy began to leave, then returned to the captain. “Hitch was hoping you could make the caravans stop marching by the tent when you woke up.”

Dietrich put out a hand and turned his head toward the tent wall. 

“Open that panel, please.”

Troy found the fastenings, and after loosening them, raised the panel, admitting a breeze that was cooler than the still air in the tent. 

“Can you see them?” asked the captain. 

Troy looked outside.

“I see your camp tents, the trucks parked off on the other side, the tents of the people from the town, the water, some date palms, and not much else.”

“And I see something different,” said Dietrich. “Oh, our camp is there, but so is a desert caravan – this one is not quite as large as the one I saw last night before sunrise, but it is large enough, with many camels and only a few horses.”

“That’s what Hitch was complaining about,” said Troy. He waved at the oasis. “But there’s nothing there.”

“Well, there is,” said MacLlyr, coming up with a supply of fresh water. She settled herself by the captain’s cot and helped him drink. “You simply may not see it until you have a fever of 103 Fahrenheit or 39.5 Centigrade, if you prefer the metric numbers.”

Troy frowned at her, but took the canteen of water she offered him.

“You’re saying Hitch and the Captain are just hallucinating.”

MacLlyr shook her head. 

“No, what they see is real in its own way. If you know how to still your mind, you will see it, too. If it were simply fever-dreams, Private Hitchcock and Captain Dietrich would be seeing entirely different things. As it is, they are in agreement about what they see, when they are both awake and can speak.”

“What, they’re seeing ghosts?” Troy frowned at the researcher. 

“Not necessarily,” said MacLlyr. “They are simply viewing the shades of the past moving by, like images captured on film.” She pointed through the open panel. “This oasis is ancient. Many humans and their animals have traveled through here, leaving their imprint on this space. For those who are sensitive to such things, it is … uncanny… and so the oasis fell into disuse.” She smiled. “It is good though, to have the living here again and to bring the oasis alive.”

“So, there’s no ghosts,” said Troy with a snort. 

MacLlyr stood up and smiled at him, but said nothing. Looking down, she noticed that Dietrich had gone back to sleep in the midst of their conversation. Lowering her voice, she said, “If you wish to speak further, come outside and leave everyone here to their rest.” Moving quietly, she walked out of the tent through the flap Troy had opened and bent her steps toward the area where Gunther had set up the camp mess tent. After reassuring himself that Tully and Hitch were still resting, Troy followed MacLlyr and caught up to her in several long strides.

“Why not talk in there?” he asked. 

“Besides not wanting to wake those who may be sleeping fitfully?” said MacLlyr.

“Yeah, besides that,” said Troy. 

“Because in addition to the shades of the past, there **are** ghosts in this oasis, Sergeant Troy, and it is not a good idea to speak of such among sick people who already walk on the cusp between the worlds.”


	5. Waypoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone finds out a little more about why the oasis has been abandoned for so long.

“C’mon, Doctor! Ghosts?” Troy shook his head. “No.”

“Yes." MacLlyr nodded, face intent. "Boes, the old Commander of Cavalry, is one such. I caught Hans having a deep conversation with him yesterday,” she said.

“Cavalry? You mean the German tank corps people?” asked Troy, taking a quick glance at the camp’s collection of worn halftracks. “The only ones here belong to Dietrich.”

MacLlyr laughed softly. She had a nice laugh, Troy decided, and mirth made her face look very youthful.

“Oh no, I mean Asvārān Boes, of the Sasanid Empire, master of a very large division of cataphracts, or armored mounted cavalry.”

“Who?” Troy scowled at her as Moffitt strolled up with their mess kits.

“Here, dinner,” he said, passing one to Troy. “Not bad, considering the blending of cuisines.”

“Moffitt, have you seen cataphracts here?” Troy pronounced the word carefully as he dug into the food. It was surprisingly good, given the meat in the grain and vegetable mixture was probably the strange tinned stuff the Germans had. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“Cataphracts?” Moffitt’s face showed puzzlement and curiosity. “Those would be quite unusual in this day and age.”

“Out of date?” asked Troy.

“Quite, by about two thousand years.” Moffitt raised his eyebrows at them as if expecting further explanation.

Troy tipped his head toward the Irishwoman. 

“Doctor MacLlyr says Dietrich was talking to one yesterday.”

“He’s very feverish,” said Moffitt, shrugging. “He’ll see all sorts of things until the fever breaks. Rather interesting that he was seeing something from so far in the past. I didn’t think he had made a study of long-extinct empires.” Moffitt thought a bit more as he ate.

"Early Sasanid empire, which would put Dietrich's visitor somewhere near the time of Darius the Great."

“Sergeant Troy and I were talking about those who pass through this oasis. Much of what the sick are seeing are shades of the past – but only that – _shades_ that cannot see or hear us, like an old cinema film left to repeat itself. But others truly are ghosts,” said MacLlyr. 

A child ran up with a bowl of food, which MacLlyr accepted with a smile and a word of thanks. She sat down cross-legged to eat. 

“I doubt it,” said Moffitt. “I’ve been doing research in Cyrenaica on ancient civilizations for more than enough time. I should think I would have noticed such phenomena by now.” He gave MacLlyr a slight smile. “Best be careful, Shannon, you’re starting to sound like Doctor Jones, remember him?”

“How could I forget?” MacLlyr groaned. “The carnage. Not to mention the damage to so many antiquities.” She shuddered and applied herself to her food.

“That sounds like you have some interesting stories to share,” said Troy.

“Not at night,” said Moffitt and MacLlyr in unison. They looked at each other in surprise, then both chuckled. 

“Besides, in the stories we know, the Germans do not come off too well, and it would be impolitic to share them in the presence of our hosts,” said Moffitt. 

“The ghosts are real enough,” said MacLlyr after some time had passed, as she gathered up the last bits of food with a piece of flatbread. “I suppose we could say this oasis is a _waypoint_ for those in transit.” She looked across the sands at the pool of water, glimmering red-golden in the last rays of the setting sun.

“All right, assuming there _are_ ghosts wandering through here, what’s the problem?” asked Troy. “It’s not like they can do anything.”

“Typically, none. Most people will never see them, and the spirits themselves are usually intent on going where this waypoint will take them.” MacLlyr finished her meal and set the bowl aside. She leaned toward Troy and Moffitt, speaking softly.

“The difficulty is when those few people sensitive enough to see them, do so, become frightened, and do something rash, like run out into the desert to get away from them.” MacLlyr looked toward the medical tent. “The other problem…”

She cut off her comment as Lieutenant Erhardt walked up. 

“Good evening Max,” she said with a smile. “How are you?”

“Warm,” said Erhardt, sinking down beside her with a sigh and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. The young man had opened his uniform shirt and his head was minus its hat, leaving his rumpled blond hair exposed to the night air. “But everyone is fed and our medic says no one has died. Yet.”

“He’s so cheerful,” said MacLlyr with a snort. The evening breeze was cooling on her cheek and she looked at Max closely. 

“No, he is not, but he is competent,” said Erhardt in German. Moffitt translated for Troy’s benefit. 

“How’s Dietrich?” asked Troy. 

Erhardt blinked at him for a moment.

“Ah, _Haputmann_ Dietrich? He… speaks to people who are not there.” His youthful face went sober. “It worries me.”

“Yes, that’s the other problem I started to mention,” said MacLlyr. “With a waypoint so close, it would not do for someone to become confused and walk out into it with a spirit who seemed more real than the living.” She said this in English and Max looked as if he had not quite gotten all the words.

“Walk where? With who?” Max asked.

“With the travelers. No sense in leaving before one’s time.” MacLlyr’s smile was sad. “The times being what they are, this place has more than enough people moving through as it is.”

“I do not know about any travelers,” said Erhardt. He looked across the oasis. The moon had not yet risen and the pool of water sparkled in the starlight of early evening. His eyes grew larger and he sucked in a deep breath. 

“But look! Hauptmann Dietrich was right! There are lights all over the wadi!” Lifting his hands, he indicated the empty space in front of him. Erhardt’s face was filled with wonder and he turned his head to regard the pool of the oasis. 

“Look how they go to the water.” He squinted into the gloom. “I cannot see what happens to them once they reach the lake.”

“Oh dear,” said Moffitt.

“What did he say?” Troy had not caught all the conversation, but he had an idea he would not like the interpretation.

“He’s seeing lights like Dietrich did before he collapsed on us.”

Troy touched Erhardt on the forehead. The officer did not object, his attention held by whatever he was seeing. 

“He’s burning up,” Troy said. Rising to his feet, he extended a hand to Erhardt. “Can you stand?”

The German tried, working to unfold his legs, but they buckled under him. 

“ _Nein_ ,” said Max, puzzled by his sudden weakness. 

“Keep him still, I’ll get some people with a stretcher,” said MacLlyr. Standing, she ran off toward the tent which normally would have housed both Captain Dietrich and his tiny administrative office. 

“I must tell Sergeant Gunther to turn off the lights,” said Erhardt to Moffitt in German. He propped his head in his hands. “I really should not be sick.” 

Gunther came up with a pair of men and a stretcher. When he saw Erhardt sitting on the sand, his face fell for a moment, then quickly recovered into a stoic mask. He saluted the younger man.

“Sir, Doctor MacLlyr says you have taken ill.”

“Yes.” Erhardt drew himself up as much as he could, given he could not stand. “Until _Hauptmann_ Dietrich recovers, you have command.” He looked at Troy and Moffitt. “Work with these Sergeants until everyone is well.”

“That might take over a week to ten days,” said Moffitt gently.

“It does not matter,” said Gunther. With the help of Troy, he got Erhardt onto the stretcher, then sent him off with his men to the medical tent. 

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I will get some of the traditional medicine from the ladies for Max," said MacLlyr. Rising, she followed the stretcher. 

“We are forbidden to return until everyone is no longer sick," said Gunther. "You must do the same, to protect your own people.” He smiled wryly at Troy and Moffitt. “I assume you do not want to share this with your friends.”

“You are correct,” said Moffitt. “Er, before you arrived, the Lieutenant wanted us to ask you to turn off the lights.” The Englishman gestured at the dark oasis. 

“Ach, not that again! He’s gone like the Captain.” Gunther's face showed his dismay. “I noticed only the very sick see them.” He shook his head. “I do not know why, but it worries me more than battle. Give me a fight with an enemy I can see!” Muttering, he stalked off toward the tents. 

"He's got a point," said Troy after Moffitt had filled him in on the gist of their conversation.

"Well, at least Tully and Hitch haven't been complaining about lights," said Moffitt lightly, collecting their empty mess kits for cleaning.

"Nah, Hitch just sees caravans that aren't there," said Troy. "Same as Dietrich."

"Well, that is ... interesting. Tell me more."


	6. Where are You Going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running a quarantine camp is harder than it looked at first blush. Dietrich takes on a quest and summons a boss by accident. Troy has a "stretch assignment" and finally gets to see one of the phenomena for which the oasis is famous - or infamous, depending on your point of view.

Dietrich woke to the distant sounds of children fussing, and the voice of a woman soothing them. Closer to where he lay, he could hear men breathing, snoring, and occasionally, coughing. The light hitting his eyelids was soft, which hinted it was early morning. A chill breeze poking cool fingers through gaps in the tent confirmed the hour in his mind. With an effort of will, he opened his eyes. The canvas roof of one of his own large tents came into slow focus. It was even larger than normal, supplemented on one end by the black tenting used by the local Bedouin. A new cot had been added nearby. It held Erhardt, who looked unconscious. 

Directly above Dietrich’s cot, a chicken perched on one of the cross-poles bracing the structure. 

“Why am I looking at the @#! of a chicken?” he asked no one in particular. 

“Wow, Cap’n, does that mean what it sounds like?” The response from Tully Pettigrew came from the cot directly to his right. His voice was as weak as Dietrich’s own, but he was conscious at least. Private Hitchcock was snoring gently to his left, as oblivious to the conversation as his lieutenant.

“It does, Private. I have no wish to be lying here under the dirty thing.” He shot the chicken a narrow glare.

“Yeah, that does kind’a look like a risky spot,” said Tully.

“Shoo!” Dietrich waved a hand at the chicken, which ignored him.

“Gonna need some ammo, Cap’n,” said Tully. “She knows you can’t reach her.” Digging an elbow into his cot, he pushed himself upright to scan the area for potential projectiles. 

“Bed pan?”

“No,” said Dietrich. “Hazardous and noisy. Our chief medic, Corporal Krauzer, tends to be too Prussian for my taste, and he will not appreciate a disturbance in here.” He chuckled softly. “My men tend to get well just to remove themselves from his care.”

“Hmm, only other things in reach are our boots.” Groping under his cot, Tully hauled out one of his own by way of example.

“That will do.” Levering himself into a sitting position, Dietrich found and pulled free one of his riding boots, turning it in his hands to get a feel for its balance-point. Carefully, he sighted on the chicken. The angle was not the best, but it was only eight feet above his head, so at least the range was favorable. Summoning what strength he had, he fired the boot upward and was gratified to make a direct hit.

The chicken took wing with a burst of feathers and loud affronted squawking. Flapping laboriously toward the main entrance of the tent, she alarmed a bunch of her sisters into fleeing with her. The small flock exploded out the door-opening, cackling and shrieking as if pursued by a pack of jackals.

“Good shot,” said Tully gravely. His eyes were wide as he took in the effect of the Captain’s well-placed salvo. A few downy feathers drifted down from above.

“Not stealthy enough,” said Dietrich, looking alarmed.

“You brats! What is going on in here?! You are supposed to be sleeping, not waking everyone up!” This was bellowed in German, but the accusation was supplemented by a woman shouting something in Arabic that was roughly the same in sentiment. The two adults had entered by the front of the tent. There were many rows of cots and boxes of supplies between them and the guilty parties, shielding Dietrich and Tully from immediate view.

“Corporal Krauzer!” hissed Dietrich. 

“And Miz Waffiah,” whispered Tully. “She’s everyone’s granny. Very fierce.” Flinging himself flat, Tully pulled up the blanket. “Time to play dead.”

“Agreed.” 

By the time the head medic reached the back of the tent, Tully and Dietrich had managed to make themselves look innocently asleep. Hitch and Erhardt were both truly sleeping, which lent an air of realism to their charade. With a snort, Krauzer stalked off and exited the tent with Waffiah, both of them having a discussion on “young people these days” in their respective languages.

\---

“So, you two will manage affairs here while we’re gone?” Moffitt asked Troy and Gunther. He sat MacLlyr’s black stallion, while MacLlyr rode Sekhmet. Keeping them company were three of the town elders, mounted on camels. 

“We should be fine for a day or two,” said Troy. “We pretty much know what we need to do. Just don’t get lost out there.”

“Or dead,” said Gunther. “This land does not welcome strangers.”

“That is why we are traveling with Ibn Ali and his brothers, to speak to their desert kinsmen. We need to let them know the full details of why everyone fled the town, and we could use a few more supplies, if they have any to spare,” said MacLlyr. “Hopefully, we will hear some news as well.” 

“It should be quiet while we’re gone,” said Moffitt, but I left you a little present to help you along, Troy.” Moffitt’s face was impassive, but his eyes held a merry gleam. 

“See you all soon, _Inshallah_ ,” said MacLlyr. With a wave, she turned Sekhmet to face the desert, and set a pace to match those of the camels. Soon the little group was out of sight.

Sergeant Gunther gestured Troy over to the small camp table he had been using for a desk. It was set up under camouflage netting, which gave relief from the afternoon sun. The desk was piled with papers neatly clipped together.

“Supply logistics?” asked Troy, eyeing the stack. He suspected Moffitt had gotten the better work detail this day. 

“ _Lieferlogistik_ ,” said Gunther, nodding. Pushing aside a stack of papers listing the combined company’s supplies, he uncovered a book and picked it up. 

“ _Ein buch von_ Sergeant Moffitt,” said Gunther. He handed Troy the rather thick volume with a smile. 

Troy received the book, glanced at the title, and began to laugh. It was a well-worn English to German dictionary with the reverse translations from German to English included. Pulling up a camp stool, he took the topmost stack of papers and began to read with a wry grin. 

“Remind me to thank Moffitt when he returns.”

\---

The sun was setting when Troy and Gunther decided they had settled enough of the camp logistics for the day and stopped to get food and some rest. 

“You’re a tough man, Sergeant,” Troy as he prepared to leave their open air office. “This is hard work.” He nodded at the pile of paperwork and the lists they had composed together. 

Smaller commands like Dietrich’s typically did not carry more than a month’s worth of supplies at a time, if that much, looping back instead to larger encampments for resupply on a regular basis or taking delivery of supplies at rendezvous points, assuming the trucks made it through the shifting lines of battle. Troy’s own Long Range Desert Patrol did the same in practice. This meant none of them were fully prepared to feed large groups for weeks on end. The townspeople had brought what food they could take from the town, and were willing to share, so they were not any worse off for having extra people to feed. But the town’s own supplies depended on growing hardy plants, meat and milk from goats and camels, and regular commerce with their kin and those who traveled the trade routes. 

“ _Fünf tage_ ,” said Gunther, holding up five fingers.

‘Yes. Five more days of food, then we start to run short,” said Troy. He looked out to the desert beyond the pool of water. He was used to the logistics of supplying his own team with Army rations, water for the men and jeeps, medical supplies, and whatever munitions they might need for a mission, but planning and running a quarantine camp was a stretch. While it made him appreciate the camp clerks and supply officers who kept things running, it did not make him keen to take up their work once they got out of this situation. Using the dictionary to weigh down a stack of notes, Troy left the workspace and walked toward the water. They had been very careful to set things up so no one was trying to use the shared pool for laundry, bathing, or anything beyond taking water to drink, for minimal washing, or use in cooking. The pool’s edges were relatively clean of footprints as a result and he stood near the shore and enjoyed the quiet of the early evening. 

After fifteen minutes the sun had tipped below the horizon and the air began to turn chill. Turning away, Troy found he was no longer alone. Lieutenant Erhardt stood nearby on the verge of the pool, gazing upward toward some spot in the air over the water. He was fully dressed in his uniform, with his hat on his head, and his boots polished and tidy as if he were ready to stand inspection. 

“Evening, Lieutenant,” said Troy. “Feeling better already?” He looked awfully good for someone who had collapsed only the day before.

Erhardt looked at him and smiled, but did not answer. Looking again across the pond, he shifted his weight as if he were thinking of stepping into the water.

“ _Leutnant_ Erhardt!” Captain Dietrich ran up to them, gasping a little from the effort. His under-blouse hung open, and while he was wearing breeches, his feet were bare. 

“Where do you think you are going?” Dietrich’s voice was sharp and Erhardt turned toward him at once.

“ _Hauptmann_ Dietrich!” Erhardt snapped a salute. “I’m ready to depart with our company,” he said, holding a hand out toward the water. “They are all drawn up and await only your command.” 

“No, _Leutnant_ , you are mistaken.” Now that he was near enough to Erhardt, he spoke quietly. “That is a different company altogether.”

“Ah, is that so?” Erhardt looked at the pool of water, its surface silver in the rising moonshine. “Yes, I suppose it is, now that I look closer.”

“Exactly. You have no business going off with them when I need you here.” He smiled at Erhardt. “I have no orders authorizing your transfer, therefore you cannot leave.”

“Of course, sir.” 

Erhardt looked at Dietrich with such a happy expression Troy was reminded of the faces of children at Christmas.

“What are your orders?” the Lieutenant asked.

Dietrich heaved a great sigh before he answered.

“Come with me back to the medical tent. We have both been ill, and you need some rest before you can return to work.” With an effort, he took a step away from the water.

“Come along, the company needs us.”

“Right away sir!” Erhardt turned smartly away from the pool. Walking in step with Dietrich, he accompanied the Captain to the tent. Dietrich held the back flap open and Erhardt vanished inside, followed by his commanding officer.

 _Kind of thought he shouldn’t have been up and about so soon_ , thought Troy to himself. _Strange how the kid had gotten himself so dressed up while Dietrich looked like he’d just rolled out of his cot_. 

Taking a pace away from the pool, Troy looked down to avoid any stones or other tripping hazards. Stopping short, he stared at the ground. 

The fine sand at the pool’s edge showed Dietrich’s bare footprints, both coming up and going back, but there were none for Erhardt. His boots should have left clear, deep impressions in the damp sand, but where the young lieutenant had stood, the sand was pristine. Troy felt his arms and the back of his neck prickle. Backing away slowly, he saw his own boot prints on the shoreline. 

_In the morning. I’ll talk to Dietrich about it in the morning_ , Troy promised himself as he made his way back to his tent. _There’s got to be some good explanation for all this_. He frowned as he considered the possibilities. _Something that doesn’t involve ghosts or people who don’t leave footprints_. 


	7. Morning at the Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Dietrich returns to work and seeks to catch up with several day's worth of information. It has only been a few days, how much could he have missed? After all, nothing is blown up or burning.

Much to Dietrich’s relief, Erhardt slept through the night without performing any more alarming maneuvers like walking out of his body. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to wake at that instant, but the flash of movement as his lieutenant – or part of him – stood up and walked straight through the canvas of the tent, had sent a surge of adrenaline through his heart as if he were charging into dire combat. Fortunately, the back panel of the tent had not been refastened, and he was able to sprint through the flap without being delayed. Instinct told him Erhardt must not be allowed to walk out to the center of the oasis pool. 

_I am recovering, yesterday I would not have been able to run like that_. He gazed up at the roof of the tent, thankfully _sans_ chicken, and tried to put his thoughts about the event in order. Running toward the pool had been easy, like dashing downhill. That bright point above the water had been tugging at him, lending him speed. Stopping at the water’s edge had been hard. Walking away after he had distracted Erhardt from his original purpose had been even more difficult. 

_What was that… that **pull**?_ He laid a hand on his chest, over his heart. _I can feel it, fainter with distance, but still there. What if I had not stopped?_

“Then you would have gone _onward_ , Hans Dietrich,” said Boes, once again in his place by the side of the cot. “As I will do, soon. But you are young and strong and have much life in you yet, and duties to perform. Such a journey is not for you or your people. Not yet.”

Sitting up to face his visitor properly, Dietrich swung his legs over the edge of his cot. 

“You _are_ a ghost, then?” he asked the cavalryman.

Boes laughed merrily, the sound causing Erhardt and Hitchcock to stir a bit on their beds. Neither of the two men woke up fully, for which Dietrich was grateful. 

“I am not sure of the word _ghost_. Certainly my mortal body is long since fallen to dust, even I can tell that, but we who follow Ormuzd do not worry overmuch about what might happen after we are done with our mortal lives. We are all in the care of the Light.” He thought for a time before adding.

“You can say I am the spirit of the person I once was. I fell with many of my forces near this place, and for a long time I must have slept and dreamed of the passing of ages. But I am awake now, and the _waypoint_ , as your lady names it, calls to me. My own men have long since gone their way, but as young Erhardt noticed, others muster here and pass through together. Honorable warriors make for good company. I will join them soon and we shall see who is the most surprised by what awaits on the other side.” Boes smiled widely, and gestured at Dietrich’s cot.

“Rest this night without worry. I do not feel your warrior there will wander off any more. You have given him your command, and he will obey.” Rising, Boes saluted him by tapping his chest with his fist. “May the Light keep you, Hans Dietrich, Captain of Cavalry.”

Dietrich got up quickly to return his salute. 

“And you, Asvārān Boes. Have a good journey.” 

The older man stepped away through the tent wall and was gone. Dietrich lay back down, closed his eyes, and did not wake until the rooster’s crow announced the new day. 

\---

“Welcome back, Captain,” said Troy. He sat at a table with Tully and Gunther as Dietrich walked up. The Captain was dressed and clean. While he walked a bit slower than his usual pace, he was maintaining a vertical position, which was an improvement over the last time Troy had seen him. 

“We’ve got coffee if you want it, Cap’n. It’s our instant-type, but it’ll get the job done,” said Tully.

“Please,” said Dietrich, indicating for Gunther to retake his seat. Pulling up another camp chair, he sat down at the table, watching as Tully set up a tin cup of coffee and passed it over. The stuff actually smelled like the real thing, which was a welcome change from the coffee of variable quality, much of it ersatz, they normally had available. There were reasons raiding the Allies was a top priority at times, the acquisition of better foodstuffs being among one of the major benefits. Dietrich decided against telling Troy that fact. He took a swallow and inhaled the steam gratefully. 

“Thank you, that is better,” he said. “Better still to get out of the medical tent and sleep in my own this night.” He looked worn, and being ill had not put any extra weight on his frame, but his eyes were clear and tracking properly. 

Gazing at the camp, Dietrich took careful stock of the people, both his own and those from the town.

“How many have we lost?” he directed this question to Gunther, but Troy spoke first.

“None so far.”

“None?” Dietrich was surprised.

“None, _Mein Herr_ ,” said Gunther, nodding in agreement. “The remedy from the old ladies worked. Whatever illness we have, their medicine is a great help against it. The children recover in two or three days, while adults take about four to start feeling well enough to move around.”

“Kids got an advantage,” said Tully. “Assuming Krauzer doesn’t kill ‘em first. He’s tough.” His grin was knowing.

“Luckily, if the children are well enough to annoy Corporal Krauzer, they are well enough to leave the medical tent,” said Dietrich. “I’m sure we’ve all been a sore trial, and he will be very relieved to return soon to the more usual complaints he sees, rather than running a hospital with a large complement of young patients.”

“Sprains, sunburns, and insect bites,” said Gunther, looking almost nostalgic. “It seems like a dream of normal life.”

The Captain chuckled at that and translated for Troy. 

“Life in the desert is anything but normal, but I do understand the sentiment.” Lifting the clipboard from the table, he gave it a quick glance.

“Four days’ worth of food, five to six if we are strict with our rations.” Dietrich scanned the summaries of their supplies and nodded, pleased by the accurate tally, if not happy over the impending shortfall in supplies. “We still have a steady source of clean water,” he said. “That in itself is a great help.” He checked the lists again, thumbing through the stack.

“Our food supply has actually gone further than I thought.”

“That’s thanks to the people from town,” said Troy. “We’ve been sharing what we have and they’ve been very generous in return.”

“MacLlyr was correct then, we do need each other,” said Dietrich. “Or I should say, we manage better as a group.”

“Too bad there’s a war in the way,” said Tully. “I could get used to this.” He gestured toward the oasis. 

“A problem for another day… or three,” said Dietrich.

Raising his head from the supply notes, he scanned the camp again, his brows knit as he finished his mental tally. 

“Where are Doctors MacLlyr and Moffitt?” The horses were gone, as were several of the camels he remembered occupying the camp before he passed out.

“Off to find the relatives of the people from town,” said Troy. “A couple of the elders went with Moffitt and MacLlyr. They thought it was time to let their kinfolk know why they left the town and to see if they could get some supplies to tide everyone over.”

“How long have they been gone?” Dietrich sought to quell the sense of alarm that nagged at him over their absence.

“They left yesterday,” said Troy. “MacLlyr borrowed your horse, hope that’s OK.”

“That is fine, I will not be riding horses any time soon,” said Dietrich. “She was Sekhmet’s owner before she gave the mare to me. I do not know how MacLlyr acquired her, but that black stallion she rides is Sekhmet’s colt.” 

“I kind’a thought so,” said Tully. “Those are some of the finest horses I’ve ever seen, and I used to work on a farm in Kentucky that bred race horses.”

Dietrich smiled at that. “This is the land of fine horses. My uncle bred horses for driving, jumping, dressage, and for the cavalry, mostly _Oldenburger_ and _Alt-Oldenburger_ ,” he said. “If it were not for the current situation, I would be tempted for his sake to acquire several more of the local _Araber pferde_ to improve the bloodstock, but for now it is impossible.”

“Excuse me _Mein Herr_ , but they are so little,” said Gunther. “While I’ll admit they have good feet, they have legs like toothpicks.”

“So says the man who is used to driving the _Schleswiger Kaltblut_[1],” said Dietrich, smiling at his sergeant.

“Fine, sturdy horses,” said Gunther happily. “Legs like strong tree trunks! They can pull a beer wagon all day.”

“Too bad there’s no beer wagons here,” said Tully after Dietrich provided a translation. “That sounds good to me.”

“You’re feelin’ better, Tully,” said Troy with a grin. “If someone had offered you a beer two days ago…”

“I’d’ve said, ‘no thanks’!” said Tully, making a face and holding up a hand as if to fend off the idea. 

“It still does not sound like anything I would want for now, but the coffee is good,” said Dietrich. 

Tully raised his head and looked toward the desert. 

“Plane coming,” he said. “Not a bomber. Not a fighter, either.”

[1] The [Schleswig Coldblood](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schleswig_Coldblood) draft horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random horse-crazy natter...  
> In my universe, Dietrich's ancestral family was part of the old Duchy of Oldenburgh, and raised horses for the nobility and military until WW I made the war-horse mostly obsolete, then switched over to promoting animals that were more for high level eventing: cross-country jumping, dressage, and stadium jumping. The "modern" Oldenburger is the breed he is thinking about improving with some imported Arabian blood. The "Alt-Oldenburger" or "Old Oldenburger" are the ancestral progenitors of the modern breed and were elegant carriage horses, good for all-purpose use under saddle or in harness. They were more bred for pulling a carriage than for jumping, hence the modern breed had Arabian and Thoroughbred added to provide a lighter horse that could run and jump.  
> In modern times the Alt-Oldenburger still exists, but it is a rare breed.


	8. Dropping In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is it when what you want most is to stay hidden it proves impossible? One of those unwritten laws of physics which can work in your favor -- or not. All depends on who is doing the finding.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen as the aircraft noise grew slowly in volume. Whatever it was, it was not moving too swiftly, and seemed to be either circling, or perhaps quartering, the area. Dietrich and Troy’s faces showed mirrored expressions of concern.

“Your HQ knows your coordinates?” asked Troy.

“No,” Dietrich said, shaking his head in a firm negative. “I did not have a destination in mind at the outset as to where I would take my company after I was told to “get lost” in so many words by our doctor.”

“I have had our radio shut down since we started traveling and camped here,” Gunther added. “Better to plead radio trouble than refuse a direct order to report our location and risk being shot later for insubordination.” He gave them a pained smile as Dietrich provided a quick translation for Troy.

“Same for our radio,” said Tully. “Hitch ‘n me were sick.” He peered at Troy. “’Sides, our people would've had kittens if they knew.” 

“Moffitt and I haven’t touched it, either. As Sergeant Gunther said, it is easier to say we had radio trouble than to try to explain…” 

Troy waved a hand at their motley camp. A group of children were pushing their flock of goats away from the water and toward the forage growing along the edges of the rocky hills. The old ladies were back to brewing their remedy for the sick in kettles located away from the main cooking area. Troy caught a whiff of it on the eddying breeze and coughed. It smelled quite potent and he was grateful he hadn’t fallen ill and been made to take any of it.

“Very good, thank you,” said Dietrich. “Doctor MacLlyr gave me the location of this oasis on condition we bring the townspeople along, **and** that we preserve this place for their use, since it may be months or a year before the water supply in town is safe to drink. In practice, that means _we_ , you and I, cannot give its position to our respective forces, since the civilians cannot afford to have their water supply fought over or blown up.” He gave Troy a level stare and the American had the grace to look chagrined as he recalled the oasis they had destroyed months ago[1]. The fact that local people depended on that water had not entered his mind at the time. 

“War isn’t convenient for anyone here, Captain. Least of all for civilians when we keep running through their towns,” said Troy. “They haven’t had an easy time of it since the Italians moved in, thirty-some years ago.” Like Dietrich, he kept checking the arc of visible sky. The hum of the aircraft was still audible. Had it moved closer? The echoes off the hills made it difficult to accurately determine the machine’s location.

“I agree, but in this case, I gave my word.” 

Dietrich smiled suddenly, his eyes lighting with humor. 

Noticing that shift, Troy’s discomfort quickly changed to suspicion.

“You owe me a favor Sergeant, remember?” 

“How did I know you were gonna bring that up?” 

Troy glared at Dietrich, who by this time had developed a fair amount of mental armor against it.

“I think it an equitable bargain, don’t you?” The Captain’s voice was smooth.

“Neither of our sides will have access to this water. According to Doctor MacLlyr, it is a limited resource that can support only as many people as we have. Too much use will cause the aquifer to fail, and then everyone would lose, especially these civilians to whom we owe our lives.” He nodded toward the cluster of women blending their medicine.

“Fine,” said Troy with a sigh, drumming on the table with his fingers for a time. 

“I’ve got to admit it, you’re right. If our sides fought over this place there’d be nothing left but a mudhole.”

Dietrich opened his mouth to reply when Tully spoke, halting his train of thought.

“Plane’s circling closer. Single engine, sounds kind’a light.”

“Throw camo netting over the jeeps?” asked Troy, glancing at their parked vehicles, which were Allied army green under their layer of desert dust. The aircraft was definitely drawing nearer.

“Let us see who is visiting, first,” said Dietrich calmly. “It is not uncommon for us to have captured Allied vehicles and sometimes personnel.” From the sound of it, the aircraft had adjusted course and was now heading directly for the wadi. 

“Yeah, but you don’t usually have prisoners obviously running around loose,” said Troy. 

“True, but I **do** have my own people moving about freely.” Dietrich eyed Tully, sitting bareheaded under the shade of the date palm where they had positioned their camp table. Without his American helmet and clad in worn khaki, he looked like all the other men in his unit. With his sun-bleached blond hair he could have graced a _Wehrmacht_ recruiting poster. Sergeant Moffitt was away and Private Hitchcock was still in the medical tent. That meant he only had two Americans to conceal versus the entire Rat Patrol.

As he shifted his gaze from Tully to look across the wadi, Dietrich noticed Asvārān Boes, mounted on his proud armored horse, waiting before a translucent line of warriors drawn up in tidy ranks, standing above the surface of the pool of water. The company was composed of men and armor from every division in Cyrenaica: Italian, German, English, Australian, Indian, Berber, and more. Raising a hand, Boes beckoned them forward. Following his lead, they moved in order to the waypoint. Row by row they vanished from the Captain’s sight. 

_We’re all the same_ , Dietrich thought with an internal shiver. _Every one heading to the same destination_. Despite his recovery, the waypoint still tugged at him. He rubbed the spot above his heart. 

“Captain?” Troy was looking at him in concern. 

_Back to my own responsibilities to the living,_ Dietrich thought with an internal sigh.

“Hmm, yes, my soldiers are here, and that is perfectly normal.” Reaching out, he plucked Troy’s Australian bush hat from his head and handed it to him. “Put this away and be a German soldier for a little while until I know what we need to do.” He gave Troy the clipboard of supply notes and repeated his comments in German for Gunther, who nodded, and took up another stack of notes and a pencil.

“Lie about our affiliation?” asked Troy, not quite sure he had heard Dietrich correctly.

The Captain looked affronted. 

“It is not _lying_ as such, Sergeant, but _tactical caution_ ,” he replied in a professorial tone.

Tully hid a smile under the pretext of removing his matchstick. Troy’s expression was priceless.

That matter hopefully settled, Dietrich mentally willed Troy to stay in his place at the table. Standing, he turned to face the sound of the plane, its engine echoing loudly now over the rim of the steep escarpment whose rocky arms formed a shield around most of the oasis. He could tell he was not yet fully recovered from his illness, as standing up fast caused his eyesight to grey out for a time. 

The aircraft sailed into view, cruising low over the edge of the plateau, and immediately banked steeply to circle the wadi. As Tully had predicted, it was a smaller single-engine plane. It had high-set wings and extended landing gear, giving it the appearance of a long-legged bird.

“ _Fieseler_ _Storch_ ,” said Gunther, nodding in approval. “Good choice for reconnaissance.”

“One of ours,” Dietrich added. Command staff from both sides of the conflict used the _Storch_ for quick travel and visual survey, but he could not imagine any of them coming this far out into the desert when there was no battle nearby.

“That sounded like _stork_ ,” said Troy, squinting up at the plane. “Kinda looks like one, too.”

“Stork is correct,” Dietrich nodded. “A light utility aircraft with a slow stalling speed. Often used for observation, but… what has been done to the tail?” 

While the machine sported the black and white open crosses of the Luftwaffe on its body and wings, the tail of the aircraft had been overpainted red, obliterating the Nazi _haken kreuz_. In its place was a _cross pattée **[2]**_ in black, outlined with white. It stood out like a beacon against the brilliant background.

“That is the symbol of old Imperial Germany, used during the Great War by the Flying Corps,” said Gunther.

Dietrich’s face went through a quick range of expressions, from worry to astonishment as the _Storch_ aimed itself toward the narrow strip of curving sand that lined the edge of the water. 

“I do not know of any modern person who would do such a thing and it cannot be one of the old aces…”

“We don’t have a landing strip,” said Tully. “He’s not really gonna…”

“Oh, yes he is,” said Troy. “I got a funny feeling about that guy. Those markings on the tail, I’ve seen old photos of something like that before.”

“What?” Dietrich shot Troy a strange look, which the Sergeant did not notice. Leaving his question unanswered, the Captain began walking toward the oasis pool. He didn’t feel steady enough yet to run, but now that his blood pressure had equalized, he could manage a quick pace. Boes’ company of soldiers was gone. The Master of Cavalry’s comment about what would happen were a living person to walk through the waypoint was still fresh in his mind. He hoped the pilot of the _Storch_ would not ignorantly fly through it and provide a proper demonstration of such an event.

The aircraft slowed, and slowed again as it descended at alarming speed, angling toward the sand edging the pool of water. Nosing up into a near-stall, first the tail gear dragged the ground, followed by the two front wheels. Finally, the _Storch_ landed gracefully as its avian namesake, with room to spare, well clear of the water. The pilot cut the engine at once. Silence descended on the valley. 

Avoiding the middle of the pool, Dietrich walked around the water’s edge toward the aircraft. The pilot’s side door opened, and out jumped a slender man dressed in a plain Luftwaffe flight suit, minus the usual heavy jacket meant to ease the chill of flight at altitude. 

The pilot summoned the nearest group of soldiers. When they drew close enough, rather than exchange formal salutes, he handed the first man a large box that had been wedged behind his seat. 

“Here, I have supplies for your company, form a line and get them unloaded.” Soon he had a “bucket brigade” of men passing boxes and bags from the aircraft to their camp.

“Welcome to our quarantine camp, Herr Major, I am—”

“Hauptmann Dietrich,” said the pilot, giving him a proper Army salute. “Hans Von Hammer. Glad to see you alive. Given the way the division doctors were talking, I was in fear you and much of your company had been lost to disease. I must apologize for taking so long to find you. When the _old man_ found out one of his best scouting companies had been sent away with barely enough to live on for three days and that no one knew how to find you, he was furious.” Von Hammer smiled at Dietrich, his pale eyes bright with genuine amusement. 

“And we both know he does not need more excitement right now. I volunteered to resupply you, stuffed this little crate with as much as it would hold, and took off before dawn this morning.”

“How… how did you even know where to begin searching?” Dietrich tried to process the thought that _Herr_ _Generalleutnant_ Rommel had spared even a moment to think about his small command. That this Luftwaffe officer would drop everything to assist was just as astonishing. 

“The General’s adjutant said you were a smart man, _Hauptmann_. That you have survived nearly a year out here served to underscore his assessment. It made sense to me that you would take your company away from the current volatile lines of skirmish until they were well enough to return safely. That meant I would not find you anywhere along the coast road. I started from your last known position and headed out into the desert hills.” He shrugged. “The rest was part intuition, part luck.” 

Von Hammer pointed at the rugged escarpment. “I encountered a Hawker Hurricane on my way and it took some time to scrape it off against the rocks. Once I had removed that threat, I began quartering this area since it looked like a promising place for a refuge.”

“You _downed_ a British fighter? In that unarmed _Storch_?” The major’s name, coupled with the _Storch’s_ unique markings, rang a bell in Dietrich’s memory, which finally served up some facts to go with the name. _Rittmeister_ Hans Von Hammer had been Germany’s leading ace during the Great War with nearly 100 credited kills[3], but he had pretty much vanished from sight after the war’s ending. Public opinion was that he had quietly perished of his wounds.

Von Hammer’s mouth curved into an ironic smile. 

“Of course. The current crop of young heroes evidently do not understand that cliff faces develop strong up- and downdrafts in the sunlight and shadow. The _Storch_ is no fighter, but its wings are strong, and it can fly so slow an inattentive foe can find himself falling out of the sky or smashed by turbulence into the mountainside while trying to line up a kill.” His face grew calm. “If the killer skies are merciful, the pilot simply had a wrecked aircraft and a long walk home.”

“ _Herr_ Major, excuse me, but are you **the** Von Hammer from the Great War? Our Ace of aces?”

Von Hammer frowned and waved a hand as if to banish the title. 

“Yes, I’m the very one, for all the good it does.” In a softer voice he added. “I should have learned my lesson the last time, but no, here I am.”

Dietrich felt the small hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “Please _Herr_ Major, my office is this way. We will make you welcome while my men finish offloading your aircraft.” His eyes were drawn again to the tail of the _Storch_ , painted with its anachronistic sign of fealty to a lost era of Kaisers, kings, and empires. _It is too bad Boes has departed_ , he thought. _I have a feeling they would have had much to discuss_.

\---

Pretending to work, Troy watched the two men from the camp table. Gunther was doing the exact same thing. Tully wasn’t even pretending. At Dietrich’s arrival at the aircraft, the pilot exchanged salutes with him and the two men conversed for a minute or so. Dietrich indicated their open air “office” and escorted the visitor in their direction. From his seat, Troy could see the man was an inch or so shorter than Dietrich, but carried himself as if he were taller. 

As they walked over, Gunther stood without a word, and the Americans followed his example. Those men not otherwise occupied with moving supplies stopped what they were doing and turned to face their visitor.

As the Captain and the pilot drew nearer, Troy could see the man’s chestnut hair as he pulled off his flight helmet. He strode next to Dietrich over the damp sand, his long legs letting him keep pace easily. As he came closer, Troy saw a major’s silver braid on his shoulders and at his throat the golden-blue glimmer of a Maltese cross, the _Pour le Mérite_. The man’s face was lean and tanned from exposure to sun and wind, and his left cheek was bisected by an old dueling scar. As he suspected, it was a face Troy knew, although matured by a span of twenty years.

“Everyone, this is Major Hans Von Hammer, hero and ace of the Great War. Major, my _Stabsfeldwebel_ , Konrad Gunther. These are _Stabsfeldwebel_ Troy and _Landser_ Pettigrew. My _leutnant_ and half of my men are recovering in our field clinic.”

Gunther gave the Major a snappy salute, Troy and Tully did the same. _At least that’s pretty much the same in any army_ , thought Troy, unable to tear his eyes away from the man. _If Dietrich wants me to give a speech in German, I’m sunk_. _I really should find a reason to be elsewhere before he notices..._ Scarcely had he formed the thought when the Major looked him full in the face. His eyes widened a little and a smile transformed his expression, shifting habitual lines of melancholy into something much nicer.

“Samuel Troy?! My young cousin! This is fantastic!” Von Hammer exclaimed in lightly-accented English and grabbed Troy by the shoulders with a laugh. “What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?” He looked from Troy to Dietrich. “He’s a prisoner?” He shook his head. “It does not feel like such to me, and I cannot believe you came here to fight on our side of this idiocy.” 

“ _Ach nein_ , _Herr_ Major, it is a long story, but for now we are under a flag of truce,” said Dietrich quickly, trying not to react to the double shock at the ace’s recognition of Troy and his calling the war an “idiocy.” 

“The illness, I should have thought of that,” said Von Hammer. “Disease knows nothing of friend or foe. Are you well?”

Troy grinned at the German pilot. 

“Yeah, we’ve all been drinking the same bad water. A couple of my men got it, but I seem to be too stubborn to get sick.” 

Tully chuckled at that and nodded his agreement. 

“Is Sergeant Troy truly your cousin?” asked Dietrich, doing his best to rein in a sense of genteel horror. _Von Hammer did not come by his decorations by being anything other than a warrior of iron will, it would explain a few things…_

“By birth no, by blood and honor, yes,” said Von Hammer. “Another long story for after our duties are done. Perhaps we can trade those tales this evening. I will leave in the morning, when the desert air is still heavy with chill and takeoff from a short runway will be easier.”

Releasing his grip on Troy, he clapped his hands. “But where are my thoughts? The supplies have priority, and I am forgetting to check on them.”

Turning away from their table, he loped around the edge of the pool to his aircraft, where Dietrich’s men were passing the last bundles and boxes from the interior. A bevy of children had gathered to stare at the _Storch,_ their goats rambling around the landing gear and nibbling at the tires. Climbing inside, he reached under the pilot’s seat and pulled out two more packages. Tucking them under his arms, he jumped free of the plane, returning to the small group sitting in the shade.

“You may find these useful,” he said, placing the packages on the table. 

Dietrich turned them over in his hands. 

“These are paratrooper’s rations!”

“Yes indeed,” Von Hammer smiled at Dietrich. “Much better than the typical ‘iron rations’ they give you folk in the _Heer_ and they include such niceties as chocolate and hard candies, which are helpful for energy if you are sick and do not feel up to eating anything else.”

“But…!” Visions of angry Luftwaffe commanders waiting for the ace to return danced in Dietrich’s mind.

Von Hammer smiled at him. “If people _will_ leave excess supplies lying about, I see no reason why they cannot be repurposed to those who need them now.”

“The supply officers will surely be… astounded… by your initiative once it is discovered, Major,” said Dietrich, keeping his tone quiet. He was torn between worry for Von Hammer and pleasure over the rare treat for his sick men.

“They will need to catch me, first. My Bf 109[4] is fueled and ready to go. Once I return this aircraft tomorrow, I’ll jump into my new fighter and be off for the Eastern front. By the time they finish repainting the tail of the _Storch_ and cursing my name, I will be far away.” He flicked a hand as if bidding farewell to the bureaucrats.

“I and my company are in your debt, _Mein Herr_ ,” said Dietrich. “And I wish you the best of luck evading your irate commanders.”

“Life is uncertain at best, but it should never be dull,” said Von Hammer, laughing.

[1] See the Rat Patrol episode, _The Chain of Death Raid_.

[2] A _Tatzenkreuz_ \- <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cross_patt%C3%A9e>.

[3] Baron Von Hammer is from an alternate history of course, pretty much the same as the Rat Patrol. His exploits can now be found collected into two volumes in the _Enemy Ace Archives_ , published by DC Comics, written by Bob Kanigher, illustrated by Joe Kubert. For his World War II adventures, read the graphic novel, _War in Heaven_ , by Garth Ennis (Author), Chris Weston, Christian Alamy, and Russ Heath (Artists). He's pretty much cut from the same cloth as Dietrich, only he is of the hereditary minor nobility. He carries a LOT of "duty to country" baggage. 

[4] The Messerschmitt Bf 109, also called the Me 109. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Messerschmitt_Bf_109>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hawker Hurricane, a fine aircraft and much-loved by the Allied aces of the era. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hawker_Hurricane#North_Africa. Unfortunately its stall speed, at 57 mph with the flaps down, is higher than the old Storch, which can stay in the air at a mere 35 mph. 
> 
> _Freiherr (Baron)_ Hans Von Hammer is not a Nazi and loathes Hitler and everyone around him, BUT he's of the old landed nobility and was raised to answer the call when his country says it needs him. He'll be the first to admit this makes for a messy life and complicated moral dilemmas. Carries a metric ton of PTSD from WW I, but is functional. To him, life is very clear while in the air where success is measured by survival.


	9. The Entire Barking Mob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is better when you have decent food, a semblance of health, and good company with which to share it. That the company may be a bit _eccentric_ goes without saying. 
> 
> The Captain continues to recover, the"scouting party" returns, and Moffitt gives Sekhmet back to Dietrich with a sigh of relief. Tully discusses the fine art of brewing and MacLlyr defines what makes a "family".

Lunch was a nicer meal than everyone expected at the start of the day. Dietrich had shared the newly-arrived staple supplies with the women who were assisting with the collective cooking, along with the loan of their company cook and several helpers. The result was good indeed, being couscous with onion and tomatoes, bits of _fleishconserv_ and egg chopped up into the mixture, fresh flatbread, and coffee.[1]

“How did you end up flying supplies out to us?” asked Troy as they ate.

“Our commanders would very much like Hauptmann Dietrich and his company back,” said Von Hammer for the benefit of the men around the table. “But they want everyone returning fit for purpose and not half-starved. Recovering men need to eat. When it was discovered everyone had been mustered off with minimal supplies to quarantine for two weeks, they sent an adjutant to find someone willing to resupply you, despite the fact no one knew where you had gone.” Von Hammer smiled. 

“That person was myself.” 

He looked around at the camp, the medical tent composed half of weathered army canvas, the other of the desert nomad’s woven black goat hair. Camels and goats nibbled their fodder while chickens scratched for bugs and investigated every object within reach. Several now perched atop the _Storch_ , along with one young goat. Children pointed and giggled at the animal, but made no move to get it down.

“If I had known you were taking Noah’s ark along, Captain, I would have commandeered a larger aircraft, but then again, landing it would have been far more… challenging.”

A little color crept into Dietrich’s tanned cheeks. 

“I was… _persuaded_ that bringing everyone was the better choice, instead of letting the civilians and these gentlemen,” he nodded at Troy and Tully. “Spread the illness unknowingly.”

“The entire barking mob,” said Troy, grinning at the Captain. 

Dietrich sighed with resignation.

“You are never going to forget that,” he said.

“I should have taken one of the old Junkers G 24s. I am sure I could land it in here, although it might not be capable of taking off afterward,” said Von Hammer, looking at the smaller _Storch_. 

“You, sir, are nuts,” said Troy. “With all due respect,” he quickly added, ignoring Dietrich’s glower at his less than polite wording.

The ace seemed unperturbed by Troy’s bluntness, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he suppressed a chuckle. 

“Sam, in all probability, I may be considered somewhat less than sane. I do not know of any doctors who study the mind willing to fly with me into combat. Certainly no one at headquarters wanted to accompany me on this journey.”

“We’ve had a few people like that in our jeeps,” said Troy, smiling a little at the memory.

“And did they enjoy the experience?” Von Hammer leaned forward to hear the answer.

“Not very much,” said Troy, shaking his head with a broad grin.

“Last one said, ‘thanks for the ride, I hope I never see you again,’” said Tully. 

That statement made Dietrich laugh in spite of himself.

“Our bureaucrats and professionals, such as doctors, much prefer not to venture out with scouting units such as mine,” he said. “On the few occasions when they simply had to go somewhere quickly and rode with us, they expressed similar sentiments, some with rather raw language.”

“They should all get out more often,” said Troy. “Maybe they’d shorten the war for us.”

“That is a good thought,” said Von Hammer, nodding. “Some of the people back in Berlin might perish of fright if they had to hazard their own skins by traveling alongside us, and that would be all to the good.”

Dietrich cast a quick glance around to check who might have been in earshot of that comment, but his soldiers were all far enough away to have not overheard anything, and he trusted Gunther not to breathe a word to anyone. In addition, he doubted his Sergeant had understood all the English.

“ _Herr Major_ , that was a bit impolitic,” he said softly.

“It isn’t _living_ to be afraid to speak the truth,” Von Hammer replied. His face settled into austere lines of stubbornness. 

_Is he sure he isn’t related to Troy by family?_ Dietrich thought, _I’ve seen that look too many times on the Sergeant_.

“War hero or not, there are many in Berlin who would be happy to take your life for such honesty, _Mein Herr_ ,” said Dietrich. “And that would be a terrible loss for the country.”

The ace’s pale eyes lit up.

“Thank you Captain, those words are better than a medal from those sycophants. Why do you think I am off to the Eastern Front? Out there, I have only to worry about being knocked from the sky and little else.” Von Hammer drank some water and stacked his empty bowl atop Tully’s. 

“I appreciate you must worry about more lives than your own.” His gaze took in the men at the camp. “Your position is not an easy one. All I can say is, stay as far away from the true Nazis as you can. Keep your men away also, as much as possible. Their ideas are poison, and they have corrupted too many of our countrymen already.”

Troy listened to this without comment. Was he reluctant to disturb the flow of words? Dietrich swallowed hard.

“I will remember your advice, _Herr_ Major,” he said quietly.

\--- **Returns** \---

The sun was tipping below the horizon to the west as Dietrich scanned both the surrounding hilltops and the section of desert terrain to the west for anything that might pose a threat. He was grateful he felt well enough to resume simple activities. It was his habit to perform this duty at regular intervals throughout the day, both when his company was on the move, and in camp. It was a function trained in main part, and reinforced by, his encounters with the Rat Patrol. The fact that a fair portion of the usual threat to his people was safe in his care for now did not lessen the habit of watchfulness. 

Adjusting his field glasses, he looked along the edges of the rolling dunes. The waves of sand were dark against the red glow of the sinking sun, but as he moved his point of view along the hills, a cluster of irregular moving shapes caught his attention. He squinted and turned the knob on the glasses, trying to focus the images against the still-potent glare. The silhouettes resolved at last into a small group of travelers, two people on horseback, two on camels, with three pack camels in tow, the attached cargo making their humps look larger than usual.

The group crested the last dune and halted to look down into the wadi. Dietrich realized they could see the _Storch_ resting by the water and were hesitating to approach too closely. Walking out toward the pool, he waved to the little caravan, beckoning it to come in to the camp. One of the people rode a horse Dietrich recognized as Sekhmet, which meant Sergeant Moffitt, and the rider on the horse beside him was therefore Doctor MacLlyr. Both of them were wearing the tribal desert robes and head cloths as protection against the desert.

MacLlyr’s horse reared briefly skyward and plunged down the face of the dune, kicking up gouts of sand as it high-stepped along, surefooted and swift. The rest of the party followed on their camels at a more decorous pace, although at some point Sekhmet ceased to answer the rein, and bounded down the dune after MacLlyr like a large deer, a maneuver that made Dietrich smile. 

“Well met, Hans,” said MacLlyr as she brought her stallion to a halt beside him. She pulled aside the _keffiyeh_ to expose her face now that they were out of the dust. “It does me good to see you mended.”

“Welcome back,” he replied. He looked beyond the Irishwoman as Moffitt and Sekhmet came to a fast halt. The mare uttered a steely snort and shook her black mane. Moffitt dismounted, staggered over in a gait that brought to the Captain painful recollection of saddle-sores, and firmly gave him the reins. Sekhmet poked his shoulder with her muzzle in welcome. Dietrich scratched her neck and she sighed happily. 

“Nice to see you up and about, Captain. How do you ever manage her? She’s quite impossible,” said Moffitt.

He accepted the reins and asked with a straight face.

“Which one?”

MacLlyr laughed at that. 

“We’re both quite impossible, my good Jack,” she said, her white teeth flashing as she teased him. “Both war-mares with minds of our own.”

“I _meant_ the horse!” Moffitt protested. 

“Sekhmet is perfectly biddable,” said Dietrich. At Moffitt’s disbelieving stare, he added. “As long as you are traveling in her direction.”

“Right,” said Moffitt, dusting off his clothing. Straightening up with a grunt, he looked toward the aircraft. “Who is the visitor? Do we need to gallop away into the desert again?”

“A friend. We are safe as we are. I will explain as we put the horses up.” Dietrich watched the line of camels approaching the townsfolk’s half of the camp at a decorous pace. “I do not see Ibn Ali, is everything well?”

“Very well,” said MacLlyr.

“He’s staying with his kin for now to negotiate arrangements for any of the people from town who would either want to join them, or travel to a different town, versus stay here,” said Moffitt.

“They are aware of the haunted reputation of the old oasis,” added MacLlyr. “They can’t imagine anyone wanting to stay for long no matter how desperate the situation.”

“It does have a unique atmosphere, to be certain,” said Dietrich. He did not turn to look at the waypoint. He had no need to see it since he could feel it. Now that the sun had set, the tiny “soul lights” were dancing in the night breeze, giving the oasis an air of enchantment. Deciding he did not need to make more explanations, he forbore to mention them. 

“Welcome back,” said Troy as he walked up. Beyond moving a little stiffly, Moffitt seemed unharmed by his desert journey.

“I really don’t understand being afraid of the oasis,” said Troy. “This place is just fine. Better’n fine, since it isn’t full of biting flies or mosquitoes.”

“I agree with you Troy, but it is difficult to argue against old taboos and traditions,” said Moffitt.

Dietrich quickly filled in the newcomers on the events they had missed as he led Sekhmet to the place they had been using as their open-air stable and paddock. Tethering Sekhmet to a palm tree, he squinted at MacLlyr’s stallion in the gloom.

“Is it the lack of light, or has Typhon turned color?”

“No, he is still black, but this fellow is mahogany bay. He has four little white socks, as well, although it is hard to tell in the dark with all the dust on them. His name is _Kuhailan_ Khali. I have the loan of him for now from Ibn Ali’s tribe.”

“Was Typhon hurt on your journey?” asked the Captain.

“Not at all,” said Moffitt, leaning against a date palm and watching them groom the horses. “It’s just that when it came time to barter for food and supplies, all the tribe remembered Sekhmet from your epic trek across the desert and wanted her blood added to their stock.”

“And the best way to do that, of course, was to lend them her colt Typhon for a season or two,” said MacLlyr. She was patiently working the knots out of Khali’s long tail with her fingers as they talked.

“You **_gave_** them your fine horse in trade for food?”

“For everyone’s sake, yes,” said MacLlyr. Her face was untroubled. “I take care of my family.”

“She’s a hard bargainer, too,” added Moffitt. “Besides food and medicinal herbs, she got them to lend her this fellow. He is one of their prized stallions.”

“Khali is an outcross for Sekhmet and a proven warhorse. When the time is right, we’ll let the two of them run around here and in eleven months’ time you will have another _asil_ horse in your barn.” She was obviously happy at the thought.

“My uncle will be overjoyed, assuming we all return home in one piece,” said Dietrich.

“One adventure at a time,” said MacLlyr, fastening the stallion’s hobbles and paying out enough line so he could graze the vegetation.

Dietrich thought about what she had just said.

“Wait, _run around_? You mean mate our horses In front of the women and children?” Dietrich was appalled. “We do not have the most rudimentary facilities available, such as a breeding barn or shed.”

“I think the children and ladies will survive it,” said Moffitt, pointing to a small herd of goats nearby, a pair of whom were taking the command to ‘be fruitful and multiply’ seriously. The children looking after them were entirely uninterested in the proceedings.

“We are very much not in Germany,” said Dietrich, averting his gaze with a frown. Being on the move so much, his exposure to the desert native way of life had been sporadic, and some aspects of it caused him a fair amount of cognitive dissonance.

“If it is any comfort, my mother’s Victorian sensibilities would be offended by nearly everything here,” said Moffitt. His smile was pained. “This is one of the reasons why she stayed in Merrie Old England and not here with my father and me while we did our research.” He indicated the camp. “The dust storms and bugs, people and animals living as if they stepped out of ancient history…”

A naked toddler dashed by, shrieking with laughter, his mother in hot pursuit with his clothing, while the old ladies shouted advice. 

“We won’t tell your mom, promise,” said Troy. “Glad you’re all back. The Captain’s medic says Hitch should be up and about tomorrow morning.” 

He grabbed Moffitt’s arm. 

“You’ll never guess who decided to pay us a visit!” Troy hauled him off toward the tents where Von Hammer and Gunther were trading war stories.

“I am sorry you had to give up Typhon for our sakes,” said Dietrich to MacLlyr when they were alone.

She smiled at him as they walked slowly toward the tents.

“There is nothing to be sorry about. Typhon will get his chance to put Sekhmet’s strong character and iron legs into the local bloodstock and that is all to the good. Your ride across the desert eight months ago is still talked about and promises to enter into legend. Ibn Ali’s tribe was keen to have the opportunity to keep Typhon for a time. He will be well-cared for. After I explained that he prefers women, the sheik gave him into the care of his daughters.”

“That stallion?!”

“Oh, yes. He loves children. The girls will be perfectly safe with him – they should have a wonderful time. And if anyone tries to menace those girls, they will have to battle him, first.”

They approached the table in front of the tents to discover Hitch occupying one of the seats.

“You escaped the medical tent!” cried MacLlyr.

“Just in time for dinner, too,” said Tully.

“Thank goodness I got out of there,” said Hitch, standing up carefully to give Dietrich and his sergeants a salute. “I dunno if I could’ve survived another day of Corporal Krauser telling me to quit malingering, get well, or else.”

“His father is a school headmaster,” said Dietrich. “Our Corporal was partway through medical school and left early to join the army medical corps. He is very good, but he keeps to the theory that we should not pamper weakness and everyone will heal faster if only they are _encouraged_ properly.”

“And see? Here you are!” MacLlyr held her hands out toward the men who had once been ill.

“I dunno,” said Tully. “I think Miz Waffiah’s amazing medicine should get a lot of credit. It tastes worse’n chokecherry wine, but it works.”

Hitch pulled a face.

“Chokecherries? Sounds terrible. Who’d want to make wine out of something so sour?”

“We only tried it once.” Tully shrugged. 

“Where there’s a still, there’s a way?” asked Moffitt, deadpan. 

“Something like that.” Tully grinned and held up an imaginary glass. “And my buddy and me were only sixteen and thought we knew what we were doing.”

“How was it?” asked Troy.

“Awful.”

Gunther had approached the Captain to provide the day’s report, and lingered to ask a question in German. Dietrich answered and then spoke to Tully.

“Sergeant Gunther is the son of a brewer and his family has made beer for generations, but they know the people who have distilleries. He says there is an entire art to the making of _kirschwasser_ and _kräuterlikör_. ”

“What’re those?” asked Tully.

“Cherry or herbal liquors – _kirsch_ is cherry and _kraut_ in this case means herbs. Your wild cherry wine could be considered close to that since it is not made from domestic sweet cherries. You would have to distill it, however.”

“The people of the monasteries would call that bitters,” said MacLlyr. “Originally meant to be purely for medicine.”

“Hmm, maybe it would be better distilled,” said Tully thoughtfully.

Hitch held up a hand. 

“Don’t look at me, I’m not trying any.”

**\---Ascensio---**

“You must give _Herr Ross_ , your uncle, my highest regards when next you see him,” said Von Hammer as he sat with Dietrich, Moffitt, and Troy outside the tents later in the cool of the night. 

“Tell him I will visit as soon as the current insanity subsides.”

“You’re assuming we’ll all get through this,” said Troy.

“I spent the entire Great War convinced I would die any day,” said Von Hammer with a sad smile. “If it was not for your uncle’s good care, I would have died in 1918. This time I have elected to be irrationally optimistic. It makes the days pass much more pleasantly.” He looked toward the shimmering water of the oasis. 

“And if things do not go as planned, we can always meet there.” He pointed toward the pool.

“You can **_see_** it?” asked Dietrich, sitting up straighter and holding a hand out toward the waypoint.

“Oh, yes,” Von Hammer nodded. “And feel its pull.”

“But how?” Dietrich found it oddly comforting that Von Hammer could see the thing as well as he could. Aside from MacLlyr, no one saw the waypoint as he did – or at least would admit they saw it.

“Anyone who has walked up to the gates of Death and laid in the arms of the Valkyrie cannot but help to see such things. We are forever changed by the experience.” Von Hammer looked at the waypoint for a time in silence, his scarred face calm. 

“I was told by a fellow ace, an Italian named Marco Rosselini, that there is something equivalent for those of us who give our lives to the killer skies, but I have not seen it for myself. Not yet.”

“A waypoint in the sky?” asked Dietrich. “ _Waypoint_ is what our Irish friend MacLlyr calls them,” he added.

“Marco didn’t have a name for it, although he used the Latin word _ascensio **[2]**_ more than once. He described it as an endless ribbon made up of all the aircraft and pilots fallen in battle. No matter how damaged, there they were, climbing to a great altitude – to him they looked like a silver pathway in the air, sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight, until they were lost from view.” Von Hammer inhaled and then exhaled slowly. 

“Their final destination was unknown, but Marco said it was the most peaceful thing he had ever seen[3].”

“He survived the journey there and back?” Troy asked. 

Von Hammer shook his head. “He did not complete the trip, although he watched his best friend and many comrades do so. They had been fighting the German Flying Corps over the ocean; he woke up skimming the surface of the sea. Marco was able to avert a crash and return to his base safely.”

“So it was a hallucination,” said Moffitt. “Such things are scientifically unrepeatable.”

“Name it such if you wish,” said Von Hammer. He was unbothered by the archeologist’s skepticism. “Does that make it less real to the person who experiences it?”

**\---Family---**

An hour before the formal military lights out, MacLlyr returned to their place by the coals of the campfire. Hitch had retired early, still none too steady on his feet, but glad to be out of the medical tent.

Swilling around the last of the coffee in his cup, Dietrich looked at her.

“May I ask you a question, Shannon MacLlyr?”

“Of course. Ask anything you wish.” She smiled into the fading glow of the fire. “If I do not have an answer, I will say so.”

“Fair enough. You said you would _take care of your family_ when we were speaking about lending Typhon to Ibn Ali’s tribe. What did you mean?”

“I am _Tuath Dé_ , I will always do my best to protect my family,” said MacLlyr. She moved her hands to span a wide circle, indicating the tents of the townsfolk as well as those of Dietrich’s camp. “That means everyone here.”

“Uh, in case you hadn’t noticed ma’am, you’ve got _family_ like the Hatfields an’ McCoys,” said Tully. “Soon’s we mend up and go our separate ways, we’ll be back to shooting at each other.”

Dietrich gave the American an odd look.

“Who are the Hatfields and McCoys?” 

“Two American frontier families famous for a feud that lasted so long hardly anyone remembers how it all started,” said Troy. He shrugged. “They may still be fighting, for all we know.”

“Their story also had elements of _Romeo and Juliet,_ as I recall,” added Moffitt.

“I do not believe ill-fated romance will be a factor in this campaign,” said Dietrich dryly. He pulled his jacket closer around his shoulders as the desert cooled.

MacLlyr laughed and poked at the fire, gently stirring the embers.

“That is nothing new to me. My ancestral clans were famous for their fratricidal feuds, some of them lasting for generations. Complete with impossible vows, awful vengeance, interference from the gods, and terrible curses. You should read about the final battles of Cú Chulainn for an example.” Tossing the stick into the fire, she dusted her hands. 

“It is beyond my power to stop all foolishness. An old professor of mine would say, ‘Some work belongs to humanity as a whole. All you can do is perform the work at hand to the best of your ability’”.

“He sounds like a wise person,” said Moffitt. 

“Very wise indeed. If you wish, I will introduce you to him once we can travel safely to Oxford, England.” She smiled at their group. “That includes all of you.”

“Oxford. As things stand I am not sure I would be welcome there,” said Dietrich.

“You will be, perhaps sooner than you think,” said MacLlyr. She looked into the fire, her eyes focused on something only she could see. 

“Or perhaps MIT. A good fit.” She nodded.

“MIT? The university in Boston?” asked Troy. “That’s in the U.S.”

“Yes, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, for a degree in advanced engineering.”

Dietrich smiled at her, finding the detailed post-war pipe dream amusing. 

“Engineering?”

MacLlyr nodded.

“Of course, for all the reconstruction required.”

The Captain noticed she did not mention which countries would require rebuilding.

“Much of Europe and parts England will need to be restored,” she added, before he could formulate a query. “It should keep everyone busy for decades.”

“Just a few items to get round, old girl,” said Moffitt. “Like waiting till the fighting stops.”

“This is all supposed to be over by Christmas,” said Dietrich, remembering a speech from some high official before he had embarked for Cyrenaica with the 5th Light Division what felt like a lifetime ago. He didn’t believe it at all, but it had stuck in his memory.

Von Hammer, who had been listening to the conversation in silence, had just taken a swallow of coffee. When Dietrich gave this pronunciation, he choked and burst into a fit of coughing. 

“ _Herr Major_?” asked Dietrich, startled by his reaction.

“Excuse me,” said Von Hammer when he could breathe again. He wiped tears from his eyes.

“I am sorry to burst that bubble, Captain, but we will be lucky to return home in five years, assuming we aren’t all dead in two or three.” 

“I thought you were optimistic?” asked Troy in some alarm. He genuinely liked Von Hammer and the thought of his adoptive cousin meeting a fiery end somewhere above Russia was not appealing at all despite the fact he was on the wrong side of the conflict.

“I am, but that has nothing to do with wins or losses.”

“But—!” Dietrich sought to assemble the words to protest. _Why are we fighting, if not to win? To defend our country and allies?_

The ace stood up quickly as if he had divined the unspoken questions. Taking the Captain by the wrist, Von Hammer pulled him to his feet, and drew him a pace away from their small table. He turned them both to face the waypoint, glimmering like a dream over the pool of water, accompanied by the tiny lights. His voice was quiet.

“You see it?”

“Yes, _Mein Herr_.” Dietrich nodded, not caring at all in the moment what the rest of the men at the table would think of that admission.

“How much does **_that_** care for victory or defeat?”

The Captain shook his head, feeling his heart perform what felt like a slow rollover in his chest. When he could speak at last he answered.

“Not at all.”

“ _C'est exact_ ,” said Von Hammer. “And understanding it is the seed of wisdom.” Returning to face the small company still seated, he bowed to them and said.

“On that, I shall bid you good night. I must be in the air at dawn. Rest well.”

[1] A good reference for what various branches of the German military ate is available here: <https://warfarehistorynetwork.com/2018/12/20/wwii-german-rations-feeding-troops-of-third-reich/> one interesting point in a separate article was the fact that the army preferred to capture Allied rations, especially when their own supply lines were getting more restricted. A lot of their rations were supplied by the Italians, and they were of worse quality than everyone else’s.

[2] Ascension (Latin).

[3] As seen in the movie, _Porco Rosso_ , by Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli. The scene itself was inspired by the story _They Shall Not Grow Old_ , by Roald Dahl in the collection _Over to You_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, go me! Well, actually it is long because all the characters became very talkative...


	10. Traveler's Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dietrich discovers the gods are very egalitarian in their sense of humor.

The sound of the _Storch’s_ engine coughing to life shattered the predawn stillness in the oasis, jolting Dietrich awake in an instant. Pulling on his boots and uniform jacket against the chill, he emerged from the tent. Von Hammer was walking around his aircraft, checking the tires and wings as the engine warmed up. The pilot had chocked the front wheels with stones to keep it in position while the engine idled. He touched the machine with his hands in the same way a master horseman would a favorite steed, nodding to himself as he stepped through a mental list of preparations. He looked up as the Captain approached and smiled. He raised his voice to be heard over the engine.

“Good morning, I apologize for the early awakening, but now is the best time for takeoff, given the short runway.”

Dietrich eyed the sand along the edge of the pool. There was little room to spare, and the brief stretch of packed damp sand was both narrow and curved as well. 

“How will you manage it?” he asked.

“You will see very soon,” said Von Hammer. “If I may have the help of some of your strong men.”

“Of course. How many do you require?” Soldiers were poking their heads from their tents. The fastest were already trotting toward them and Dietrich gestured them closer. Gunther was the first to arrive and saluted. 

“Eight, three to hold each wing,” said Von Hammer. “Two to hold the tail. They need to be well-coordinated, if possible. They must hold onto the wings while I open the throttle, and then release when I give the signal.”

“I know just the person to attend to that,” said Dietrich, nodding at Gunther. 

Only the most durable sleepers and the sick were managing to rest through the racket and all the children and youths of the civilian camp were heading in their direction, agog at the novelty of the _Storch_ preparing to fly. Even the camels had gotten up and were giving the noisy aircraft suspicious stares. 

In short order, Sergeant Gunther had a team picked out and ready, all of them stalwart youths. Satisfied with his preflight, Von Hammer walked a short distance from the _Storch_ to bid them farewell.

The Rat Patrol walked up, bleary-eyed from the noisy wake-up, but cheerful nevertheless.

“Good morning, Major, Captain,” said Troy, saluting them nicely. He nodded at the aircraft. “Goats didn’t eat your tires?”

“They tried,” said Von Hammer. “If I were to stay too long they might succeed, but for now everything looks and feels intact.”

Leaving Gunther in charge of the hasty ground crew, Dietrich had left them to run to the civilian camp. A minute later he returned with a small bottle, stoppered with a strong cork and sealed with wax. This he held out to the ace.

“We are very grateful for your aid, Major, and we are in your debt. While we have little to offer beyond gratitude, _Frau_ Waffiah insisted I give you this.”

“Thank you,” said Von Hammer, accepting the bottle. He looked at it curiously. 

“ _Kräuterlikör_?” 

“Not exactly,” said Dietrich. “It is traditional medicine for the illness we have been fighting the past four, no, five days.”

“Ugh,” muttered Tully. Hitch nodded in agreement.

“It should be useful should you ever suffer anything similar. The water here is clean, that is one of the primary reasons we selected this oasis for our quarantine. I do not expect you to come down with our illness, but it does pay to be prudent and have a supply of medicine on hand. Instructions for use are on the label.”

“Will it go bad?” asked Von Hammer as he tucked the bottle into his flight bag. 

“How could it, Sir? It’s already bad!” Hitch grinned at him.

“It should be fine for months, perhaps a year,” said Dietrich. “After which you may want to dispose of it.”

“Whatever you do, don’t drink it,” said Hitch.

Dietrich shook his head at that. 

“I, and we, Private Hitchcock included, can vouch for the medicine’s effectiveness, but as the Private implies, it is not for casual consumption.”

“How do you know when to take it, then?” asked Von Hammer.

“If you’re so sick your granny can make you swallow it, that’s when you need it,” said Tully.

“He is quite correct,” said Dietrich, an affirmation that made Tully smile.

The _Storch’s_ engine shifted into a smoother register and Von Hammer tipped his head toward the aircraft. “It is ready, time to take to the air. Thank you for your hospitality and good company.”

Dietrich saluted him, as did the Rat Patrol. Von Hammer returned the courtesy. 

“Don’t die up there, Major,” said Troy as the ace climbed into the _Storch_. “Don’t die, period, OK?”

“I will do my best,” Von Hammer replied, smiling. “And my orders to all of you are the same. Stay alive.”

Dietrich nodded at that command. Stepping back from the _Storch_ , he left it to Gunther to space his men out to hold the wings and tail of the plane. Von Hammer sat down inside, then sprang up and vanished into the interior of the aircraft. A moment later, he popped the door open and tossed out a chicken. It fluttered about for a bit, then trotted away toward the tents, shaking its feathers, and cackling in annoyance. Dietrich put a hand over his mouth to control the laughter that fought to escape.

The door safely closed, from the interior, they could see the ace hold up a closed fist.

“Hold on,” commanded Gunther as the engine revved up into full power. 

The _Storch_ strained against the grips of the men. They dug in their heels to keep from being dragged forward. Troy grabbed his men and ran ahead to clear away a cluster of kids who had decided to stand in the middle of the postage stamp of a ‘runway’ for a better view. They herded them off to the side. That task completed, and everyone safely out of the way, Von Hammer opened his hand. Gunther pulled away the chocks and shouted.

“Now!” 

The men let go at once. The _Storch_ surged forward, bouncing a little on the hard sand. Its wings bit into the cool morning air and it soared upward. The children cheered and waved as it circled the wadi to gain height. Turning toward the distant sea, it arrowed away over the plateau toward the faint predawn glow of the sun.

Dietrich watched it go with a sharp sense of loss. Troy approached him while the rest of the men headed toward the common cooking area, probably to brew coffee. 

“Well, he’s away safe at least,” said the Sergeant.

“Yes. I hope…” Dietrich found he could not quite articulate the complicated set of ideas in his mind. Loyalty to his country warred with the simple thought that honorable people should not be sent to die for no good reason.

“He’ll be all right,” said Troy. “He’s smart, and tougher than nails.”

“Good qualities to have,” said Dietrich. He took a deep breath. “In any soldier.”

\---

“Well, thanks for the hospitality, but now that Tully and Hitch are on the mend, we’ll be leaving you, Captain.” Troy grinned at Dietrich. 

The Captain was seated on one of their very battered camp chairs in the shade of the date palms, watching the semi-orderly bustle of their combined camp as the morning advanced. He had a cup of strong coffee in hand and looked almost fully human again.

“If that is what you wish,” said Dietrich. “Doctor MacLlyr can guide you out in such a way that will conceal you from unfriendly eyes.” 

“That’s very generous of you,” said Troy.

“Not at all, Sergeant,” said Dietrich. “Aside from the tribe of Ibn Ali, with whom we now have good ties, many of the tribes occupying lands between here and the coast are unfriendly to everyone unless passage is negotiated with all the proper gifts and protocols. We do not need to attract their attention, and neither do you.” 

He did not belabor the point that his own company, while recovering, was still only at two thirds-strength, and that was a generous estimate. 

The other unspoken worry was that Troy and his friends would immediately betray their position to the Allies. Troy’s word was good, and he did not think the American would want to break his promise, but nothing was certain, especially once the Rat Patrol got within range of their chain of command. Such a scenario would have many potentially ugly outcomes. The Captain did not like to contemplate them too deeply at this moment.

He looked across the oasis, which was amazingly quiet given the time of day. Children tended goats around the eastern arc of the wadi, townspeople were laying out and planting a vegetable garden on the other side of their tents, obviously planning to stay on for some time. His men were working on the battered company trucks and halftracks. Some were gathered around an Alfa Romeo 800 that had been a maintenance nightmare, trying to decide if the thing could make it back to their lines, or if it should be cannibalized for parts and left to rot in the wilds somewhere. From their gestures, Dietrich suspected the desert would soon claim another victim. _Too bad we cannot leave the people who designed those trucks out here with their worthless vehicles_. He turned his attention back to Troy.

“I will say you should stay another three days here,” he said aloud.

“What? Why?” The Sergeant narrowed his eyes. 

“Because this disease progresses in stages. We are still having new cases among my men and the townspeople. Fewer, to be sure, but some.” He looked at Troy, his face sober. 

“You drank that contaminated water the same as the rest of us, and yourself and Sergeant Moffitt may yet be harboring the illness. From our current experience, it looks as if the incubation period is three to seven days.”

“I’m fine, Captain.” Troy waved the concern away.

“If Moffitt and I haven’t gotten it yet, we should be…” Troy stopped as a sudden surge of warmth enveloped his body. 

“What the--?” He stood up and nearly fell over as the horizon tilted alarmingly in a wave of fever.

“Hey, where did those lights come from?” He turned around slowly, staring in astonishment. “Damn, you were right about them.”

“Seven days, Sergeant,” said Dietrich with genuine sympathy. 

Standing, he offered an arm, which Troy grabbed at once, reeling like a drunken sailor. At least he was strong enough now to provide good support. Two days ago he would have simply collapsed along with the American. 

_Well, that is one worry temporarily off my mind_ , he thought, sternly resisting the urge to thank whatever gods were out there. The gods, as he had come to realize, had a fickle sense of humor that cut both ways. 

“You can have my cot in the sick tent,” said Dietrich, bending their steps in that direction. “And I will send someone around with both medicine and ammo.”

“Ammo?” Troy squinted at him. “For what?”

“The chicken,” the Captain replied, unable to suppress his smile. 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this little epic. The chickens win, you knew they would. :D

**Author's Note:**

> The story _The Cross-Country Raid_ that introduces the ethnologist Doctor MacLlyr and her horses was printed in Just Deserts and has been OCR scanned and converted to digital formal. In summary, MacLlyr, who is an Irish national and thus a neutral party, gave Dietrich an Arabian mare named Sekhmet. The horse has saved his life a few times and he rides her when he can, and when he can't, he stables her with MacLlyr.


End file.
